


Double Helix: Shaded Sunrise

by Hamatomichelangelo



Series: Double Helix [1]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-03 01:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 51,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15808653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamatomichelangelo/pseuds/Hamatomichelangelo
Summary: "Koketsu ni irazunba koji wo ezu--If you do not enter the tiger's cave, you will not catch its cub"Gang violence erupts and wreaks havoc in Manhattan, making the streets unsafe. When a friend goes missing, young Michelangelo embarks on a mission. But what no one realizes, is how everything is intricately intertwined, and nothing is as it seems.(Human AU)





	1. Sepia Snapshots

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, Katie here! 
> 
> This project of mine is titled Double Helix, and I have put my blood, sweat, and my many, many tears into this. It’s a Human AU that I’ve come to love. Double Helix is a four part series, the first ten chapters making up part one, titled Shaded Sunrise. With this story, I’m trying to achieve a sense of interaction with you guys as readers. I’ve embedded clues and foreshadows within the chapters. Updates will be on Fridays. I have decided to release the prologue to part one, Sepia Snapshots, early to see how you guys like it. Chapter 1 will be published September 7th or sooner! Comments are very appreciated! My Instagram is @hamatomichelangelo if any of you guys want to talk to me there!
> 
> I don’t own any of the TMNT characters.
> 
> (P.s.-the bolded letters in the excerpt below are not a mistake) 
> 
> With that all said, let’s begin…

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was fighting a losing battle, though he knew defeat was inevitable right when he saw the men crawl out of the shadows. And the last thing he thought was that whatever happened to him next, he knew he wouldn't be a kid anymore.

**_Prologue:_ ** **_Sepia Snapshots_ **

 

 

Rain puddles were some **t** hing that always **h** eld cherished childish joy, the cu **r** e for rainy day blu **e** s. Splashing, laughing. 

 

Clawing, screaming, slipping. The puddl **e** s were preventing his escape, watering down his hopes. **L** aughter brok **e** **t** hrough, bu **t** it was thick and guttural, and it wasn't his own. The things that s **e** emed the most comfo **r** ting and familiar had turned again **s** t him. 

 

Butter **f** lies were in his st **o** mach, but not the kind from **r** iding the rollercoaster at the carnival. They felt as if they'd burst through, cra **w** ling up the back of his thro **a** t and filling his lungs. Fun and excitement was **r** eplaced with fear and panic and suffocation. Rain **d** rops stained his glasses, blurring his vision.

 

Hands clamped onto his body, but this was no game of tag anymore. This wasn't wrestling with his friend on the couch for the tv remote. Fingers dug into his skin, deeper and deeper. There were no time outs, no safe bases. And ultimately, there was no winner. 

 

At any chance where he had ripped himself free from their grips, he'd be held back down. Childhood scrapes littered his bloody knees, but the innocent instinct to cry from the pain had completely hid from him. No bandage would cover up the current crisis. He needed to escape. 

 

Coins chimed against concrete, his pocket change carried away by the rushing water down the street. 

It was crazy how muffled his cries were from the rain—a complete betrayal on his part.

 

If he hadn't snuck out this late at night, perhaps this life-or-death pursuit could've been prevented. If only he had obeyed his parents. He would do anything to be surrounded by their warmth. To see his mother and father's faces, to feel relief. But heavy, angry clouds covered the night sky, causing him to revert to his juvenile phobia of the dark and thunderstorms. He was desperate for bright, pale moonlight to guide him. But instead, he howled out to a vast void. 

 

This was supposed to be an adventure. He wanted to be a hero. Wanted to guide the lost back home, but instead became lost himself. 

 

The boy managed to get a steady stance, thunder roaring above him as he attempted to run again.  He hugged his carrier pigeon close to his chest, ducking from the men's reach. Lightening lit his pavemented path to freedom, bolting from the traumatic scene. 

 

It was supposed to just be a quick search and rescue, bringing back his one mischievous pet pigeon that managed to fly out of the coop. His optimistic and caring nature had won over logic, going out after curfew like he did. But of course, as all young kids mindsets are, he never expected anything to happen to _him_. 

 

Blood smeared like face paint, panic expanding in his chest like a balloon, but he followed the map inside his head. The roads twisted and turned like a maze in a funhouse, the distance seeming to be a never-ending stretch. His tennis shoes created friction on the sidewalk as he sharply swerved to the right, using the alleyway as a shortcut. Feet cobbled against the ground, sounding like an army of horses heading his way. 

 

But this was the shortcut; surely he'd be home any minute now. A lamppost shone down on the other side, and the boy charged straight for the orange pool of light. Flashing a tired smile, he truly believed he could make it to the other side.

 

He extended his arm, his fingers about to touch the warm light. But before his fingertips could even sit in it for a second, a strong and heinous force yanked him back. His knees buckled, smashing face first onto the gravel. Pebbles burrowed into his elbows, puddle-water soaking his clothes as his pigeon pal fluttered off. Ice cold hands clutched onto his legs, dragging him like a rag doll. 

 

The boy's limbs burned, energy depleting. He was fighting a losing battle, though he knew defeat was inevitable right when he saw the men crawl out of the shadows. His glasses had fallen clear off his face, tears dripping swiftly down his red cheeks. It felt like his heart was skipping rope, bile searing his raw throat. He used his last bit of strength to plead, to beg, to pray. 

 

Fatigue took its toll, darkness beginning to consume his entire body. Slowing down to a stop, he let them drag him into the unknown. Breathing harshly, he turned to his side to see his attackers' faces. The last thing he saw was a playful purple colored tattoo of a dragon. And the last thing he thought was that whatever happened to him next, he knew he wouldn't be a kid anymore.  

 

XXX

 

**Preview for _Chapter 1: Stolen Peace_ !**

**_“Resources tell us that this gang calls themselves the Purple Dragons.”_ **

****

**_“Sometimes, people surprise us.”_ **

****

**_Just then, the clinking of keys came from outside the door._ **

****

**_“Michelangelo,” all three said simultaneously._ **

****

**Coming September 7 !**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MLLO MFDBLK MBQB TXP KLQ QLL TFPB,  
> PQOXVBA COLJ ELJB & CXZBA EFP ABJFPB,  
> LK QEB BSB LC X PEXABA PRKOFPB.


	2. Stolen Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonardo reflects the tragedy of the past, while Michelangelo focuses on the tragedy at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to Ryss_Alsief for decoding the message under the prologue. May blessings come your way.

**_Chapter 1_ ** **_: Stolen Peace_ **

 

The line was crisp and clear to Leonardo.

 

 After years of diving deep into morality, exploring the deepest, darkest, crevices of his soul, the line had been established and certain, inking his world and seeing in black and white. Of course, he did believe in _some_ gray areas—being the head of the household, he's had to make plenty of compromises—yet on this, his mind was locked and set. 

 

His fingers wrapped around the cold metal. Fingertips smoothly glided across the barrel, past the slide, and down to the trigger guard before instinct drew his hand back. Just the simple touch made his heart pump, anxious thoughts colliding with comfort and security. His emotions were contradictions, but his ideals were firm and set in stone. 

 

Yet his ideals weren't always rock solid. Controversy would jumble and scatter his views, making it difficult at times to piece them back together. Right when he felt like he had puzzled in his belief, catastrophe would come to obliterate it all over again. 

 

Leonardo had been affected by the devastation of guns a few months back, experienced the reality-ripping destruction. Gunshots still blared in his ears, horrific images still flashing behind his eyes, still disturbing him by how quick the small weapon was in taking life. Fear constantly festered inside him.

 

Fear was tamable, however, controlled and installed with a healthy amount of respect for the weapon. Respect helped blossom his strong belief in honor, creating and honing the harsh line, and knowing when it should and shouldn't be crossed. 

 

The line of when it was necessary to bend the rules of morality—when wrong faded and twisted into right, when something became the lesser of two evils. 

 

To know when it was not acceptable to send bullets through a human body. 

 

Ever since he had witnessed the tragedy as a young man, he developed a strong desire to dissipate and unravel the corruption, to dismantle the negative symbolism, and to deliver peace to a shook society. To show the world that there was a proper balance. To protect the innocent, but mostly to protect his _family_. Because while his duty as a police officer meant to protect the people, his true job in this crazy world was to be able to care for his family. 

 

And he wouldn't have it any other way. 

 

The everyday sounds of ringing telephones, punching keys, and heavy footsteps dissolved into the background as Leo traversed the precinct, punctuality propelling his motives. Frantic chaos and busyness were elements he had adjusted to when he was a child, but the calamity in here stirred nervousness from time to time. Because in here it was a bigger deal. Here, there were responsibilities that fell onto his shoulders, and although the burden of responsibility was something he constantly carried, these just weighed the slightest bit more. 

 

Leo made his way down the hallway, finding the closed briefing room door. He leaned against the wall, exhaling any jitters that managed to pin down his normally ambitious spirit. 

 

He loved his job. He loved the fulfillment it gave him, the self-meaning and purpose to his young life. And even though his insecurities got to him now and then, he couldn't be happier with any other career. 

 

Rolling up his sleeve, he glanced down at his wristwatch and followed the hand a few ticks. A bit early, but that was the way he liked it.

 

As soon as the door swung open, Leonardo quickly scrambled in, trying his best to look professionally eager. Settling himself down in the front row of the room, he positioned himself straight and tall. Healthy habits, he told himself; whatever he could to give himself a lasting impression.

 

Cobalt eyes trailed after the man that had opened the door, who had then stood behind his podium without a word. Chief Zeno was a stoic man, emotionally shut off and never let his guard down. Leo assumed it came with the job.

 

Words weren't being exchanged between the two, Leo feeling the sticky self-doubts returning and clinging onto him. He sunk in his chair, allowing himself to relax a little and to idly examine his surroundings. 

 

The briefing room was a very plain room—empty walls, aligned rows of desks, and no windows to leisurely gaze through. Radios screeched from neighboring rooms, orders were continually barked, and each room in the entire station smelled strongly of Lysol and coffee. Everything was dull and gray, the only source of light being the fluorescent lightbulbs that would occasionally flicker above him.  It was very atmospheric, but in an inconsiderably negative way. Leo scratched the itch on his arm, believing his uniform still hadn't been worn in yet.

 

With no other officers having come in still, Leo lightly drummed his fingers on the smooth wooden desk. It was cold to the touch, the air conditioner always being kept on at such a low temperature. He continued to subconsciously tap until the sense of another's presence stopped his action. Turning his head towards the door, he couldn't fully hide his warm smile as his field training officer—and friend—entered the room. 

 

"Do you sprint all the way over here, or do you just wait outside the door?" Usagi joked, his almond eyes crinkling from his grin.  Being only twenty-one and the youngest of the rookies definitely had its difficulties in matters of respect and faith for Leo. Though he tried to not let it discourage him, burning all the playful teasing and using it to fuel his actuation. 

 

"Very funny," Leo covered his sheepishness with a smirk, "But it was a little bit of both."

 

Usagi went over and pulled out the chair besides Leo, chortling at his confession as he planted himself next to him. The young boy looked at his mentor, admiration truly shining in his eyes. Miyamoto Usagi had been a young student of his father, quickly transforming into a second role model for Leonardo. Perhaps Usagi had planted the initial idea of being a cop in his head, as well as to master ninjutsu like he had. To see Usagi as his father's pupil, to see the swelling pride his father had for him, Leo had begun to crave for it himself. His childish hunger never left, still desiring for his father's approval. 

 

Even if times were different now.

 

"So," Usagi picked up the dialogue, "How did Michelangelo do yesterday?" 

 

Innocent conversation lifted the burdening feel of the briefing room, anxieties being shunned and forced to cower from the light it brought. Usagi always seemed to calm his nerves in any situation.

 

Leo loosened up his stiff joints. "Well, you know how Mikey is with needles. I had to basically drag him out," he recalled, "I'm pretty sure he was hamming it up on purpose when he squealed like he did, it couldn't have possibly hurt that bad." 

 

Usagi chuckled a bit at the story, "He will be fine, it is good that he gets his influenza shot before the season really kicks in. The child gets sick just by thinking about it." 

 

"I know, he can't really help it though, his—" 

 

"Role call."

 

Leo immediately straightened, attention grabbed and focus readjusted. Chief Zeno's deep voice hardly ever faltered, sounding dead serious and drained from most emotion, and it tended to rattle Leo's core. Zeno stood wooden, rooted in place like nothing or no one could bring him down. He was intimidating to say the least; chest puffed out, ready for the daily drill. 

 

Leo quickly scanned the room to see that all the other officers of his shift had made their appearance as well. How they all managed to walk in without his full awareness completely eluded him. Maybe exhaustion was already kicking in. 

 

Chief Zeno started calling out names, and Leo's mind automatically drifted to his home life. Home was almost as stressful as being here, if not more. Reminders floated and flurried in his head—reminders to pick up food for the cat, order another prescription, to pay for that electric bill he had been putting off, and plenty of other things that shouldn't even be concerns for a young man like himself. But that was the consequence that life rolled out for him. 

 

"Hamato?" 

 

As soon as his name hit his ears he broke out of his daydream. Leonardo perked up and raised his hand, answering with the most somber voice he could muster, "Present." 

 

Chief Zeno gave him a stern look, continuing down the list as Leo mentally kicked himself for behaving unprofessionally. He centralized the moment at hand; he was still training himself to separate work and home life, since they always seemed to bleed onto each other in his mess of a mind.

 

After all names were announced and accounted for, Zeno penciled in the attendance and stared down at his podium in lumbering silence. The mood shifted, the air thickening and the room suddenly feeling slanted. Leo's spirit fell in sync with the environment, and something in his gut told him that something was off. Leo shared a look with Usagi, his brown eyes staring back and Leo could feel that they were in tune with each other. Chief Zeno fumbled with the remote for the projector, still stunned and waited for the machine to warm up. And for a split second, Leo swore he saw a spark of emotion in his wrinkled face. He swallowed hard. 

 

"Let me just cut to the case here," Zeno said at last. The screen in the front of the room lit up with the welcoming logo. 

 

"It has come to all of our attention, that there has been a sudden dramatic spike of gang activity circulating through out all of Manhattan."

 

Leo tensed. Low chattering hovered in the air. 

 

The chief expanded on the information, "Resources tell us that this gang calls themselves the Purple Dragons. There have been reports of their crimes in the past, but they were said to have backed off. Guess they have some unfinished business."

 

Leo knew of the Purple Dragons—they were ruthless, damaging lives and taking things from people that were worth more than simple possessions. Vigilantes had crawled from the woodworks during that time, somehow watering down their ritual robbing before the MPD could dispose of them. And he was aware of their return—the violence was getting out of control just around his own neighborhood, causing concern and motherly worry for the safety of his family. Just the mere thought of the gang having the nerve to make a comeback made Leo's stomach churn.  

 

"Recent accounts say they have been jumping people like crazy. Over the past few months, we've scraped up rough statistics to illustrate how serious this rising problem is."

 

Sometimes, things don't seem real until they're presented right before your eyes. The screen displayed the image, and Leo stared intently at the line graph, following its ups and downs. As his eyes climbed up the spike, his stomach sank lower and lower. Leo scrunched his nose—nervous tick. 

 

"As you can see, the purple dragons have almost doubled in their activity in just these past few months than all their previous accounts combined..." Zeno trailed off. Again turning over to Usagi for any consolation, Leo was only greeted to a mirrored expression. 

 

"Also," Chief Zeno picked the announcement back up, "Some of you may be informed that our reports of missing children have increased as well."

 

Any conversation that floated in the room deflated into flattened silence. Missing cases were very common, but Leo believed it was the emphasis on _children_ that really killed any lightheartedness. Leo's gaze fell to the floor. 

 

"But the chances of the Purple Dragons being linked to it..." another painful pause, "We're not certain of the probability." 

 

 _Purple Dragons attacking innocent and defenseless children?_ The crime seemed too heinous, even for the Purple Dragons. And yet the young man couldn't shake the sense of maliciousness poisoning his psyche.  

 

Chief Zeno's demeanor darkened as he closed. "It is our duty to end this organization before it gets out of control. They may seem like they're getting the upper hand, but they're right in the palm of ours. Don't let them slip through your fingers."

 

 _Don't let them slip through your fingers,_ repeated over and over in Leo's head, drilling deep into his skull. But he replaced Zeno's voice with the voice of another man. A man he loved, a man he missed so dearly. And one last time, he looked over to his mentor, the two communicating only through the specks of light in each other’s eyes. Luckily, Leo could translate the voiceless language. Usagi smiled. And Leo smiled back. 

 

"Now since that is out of the way," Leo snapped out of it, Zeno sounding much more relaxed and like his usual self, "Here are today's assignments..." 

 

Hence Chief Zeno began, handing out tasks for every officer in the room. 

 

"Officer Hollings, BOLO on Lairman Drive, reports of Purple Dragons have been pouring in from that neighborhood." 

 

"Officer Donaldson, scan the entire uptown range, reports say that the Astin's kid was last seen around the general area." 

 

"Officer Prescott, BOLO on..."

 

Eager and excitement and exhilaration flowed through Leo's veins, the idea of diminishing crime sounding extra enjoyable.   

 

Officer after officer, assignments after assignments, Leonardo and Usagi waited for their responsibility for the day, leaving Leo to wonder what his mission would be. 

 

But the wait kept being drawn out, every person going before him until he and his field training officer were the last ones. 

 

It almost looked like Zeno had forgotten, before he added at the end, "Oh, and Miyamoto, you and Hamato need to go down to Orchard Glenn High School at around eight o'clock—the Homecoming game is tonight and you need to direct traffic. You all are dismissed." 

 

Leo couldn't help but frown. All this mention of dangerous gang violence and missing people, and yet he was being sent to unclog a high school parking lot. It didn't seem like a productive action for him. He knew he was capable of doing more—that more _needed_ to be done. Something boiled up inside him, flaring up passion in his soul. 

 

Leonardo pushed out of his chair, and took a confident stride towards the Chief's podium. And suddenly he felt like a force of nature, true grit and determined sentiment and fiery disgust being whipped up by strong gusts of wind. A hurricane of a plethora of powerful, prideful emotions all swirling just underneath his skin. The Purple Dragons were going to be struck down, and he was going to be the one launching lightning bolts. 

 

The soft touch of a gentle hand caught Leo slightly off guard. "Leonardo, what are you doing?" Usagi asked, "We should be heading out to inspect the patrol car." 

 

Leo didn't answer, but only removed the hand that got in his way. 

 

He stood next to the podium, his desires still thundering in his heart as he stole Chief Zeno's attention. 

 

"Excuse me, Chief Zeno." Leo cleared his throat, clearing away any hint of weakness in his voice. Chief Zeno ever-so-slightly glanced up from his files, obviously unamused to be disturbed. 

 

"Is there a problem Officer Hamato?" he asked with a blatant tinge of annoyance.

 

"Not to undermine your authority Chief Zeno, but I think you've made a mistake by assigning me and Officer Miyamoto to traffic control."

 

"Is that so?" Zeno raised an eyebrow, Leo now taken aback. But the storm still raged inside him, and he wasn't about to give up quite yet.

 

"With all due respect, I believe that my FTO and I are capable of handling an assignment that involves the Purple Dragons. We can help end this."

 

"Leonardo," Usagi harshly whispered, "Let it go."

 

"You should listen to your FTO more often, rookie," the chief towered over him, silencing his storm and causing him to suddenly feel small. "Don't assume that I don't know what I'm doing. I assigned the other officers with the number one issue because they have way more experience than you do. You're just a kid. Besides, we need someone to make sure those reckless teenagers drive safely tonight."

 

"But—"

 

"And if you ever disrespect my decisions again, you can kiss this position goodbye. Do you understand?"

 

Leo nodded in embarrassment. He couldn't even look Zeno in the eye anymore, his previous spunk fading out and humiliation taking its place. But before Leo unglued himself from the scene, Zeno puffed out a hot breath, becoming the most down-to-earth he had ever seen the man be. 

 

"You want to get involved with this Purple Dragon business?" he said sternly, "Prove to me you're ready, Officer Hamato. Until then, you do as you're told." 

 

And the fierce storm finally died. His previous passion was zapped, disappointment left to reverberate where his glimmering pride once was. 

 

"Come on Leonardo, let's go check the patrol car." 

 

Leonardo sighed in defeat, following Usagi out of the briefing room.

 

Entering into the main center was like entering into an angry beehive; officers zipped from each corners of the precinct, voices accumulating into just one big buzz of noise. Usagi lead the way, Leonardo letting himself fall behind.  

 

Perhaps he was a little over his head, but his motives were in the right place. And he did truly believe in what he said—he knew he was capable, despite what others had to say about his age and experience. Against all his insecurities, something in his body knew that he could fight off the gang crimes. He had the guts, he had the leadership skills. 

 

_Prove to me you're ready, Officer Hamato._

 

And that's exactly what he was going to strive to do. Nothing was going to stop him from his current job of inspecting the patrol car—until a man in a fedora caught the corner of his eye. 

 

Leo stopped in his tracks, Usagi now way ahead of him. It was Detective Kurtzman, shooting the breeze and having an early morning conversation with an assumed friend or partner. Leonardo watched, still deciding whether he should approach him. 

 

He watched the detective use hand gestures, saw him laughing with the coworker as he made himself a cup of coffee. Kurtzman was crawling towards retirement—his graying hair being evident of that—but the man had such a youthful spirit, and Leo could tell that it would be a difficult change for him. 

 

It had been a few days since he last spoken with Detective Kurtzman. It was starting to become routine, and he was certain that both Usagi and Kurtzman were starting to see it as a habit. But he couldn't help himself. Maybe...

 

He heard Usagi's footsteps clopping towards him, "Leonardo, are you not—" 

 

"Hold on Usagi, I'll be right back." And at this point, Usagi didn't even have to ask where he was off to. 

 

Leo sauntered over to Kurtzman, downplaying any meddling appeal in his demeanor. The other officer had excused themselves upon Leo's arrival, opening the door for Kurtzman to speak solely to him. He offered Leo a warm look as he simultaneously stirred the creamer in his paper cup.

 

"Hey Jack," Leo said, attempting to sound nonchalant. 

 

"Hey Leonardo, how are things back at the Hamato household?" Kurtzman asked genuinely. He had met the detective almost a year ago, and since then, the two kept in touch. Ever since...

 

"We're doing great..." Leo tapped his foot anxiously. He really tried to bundle up his curiosity, but of course the act fell through. Sighing, he gave up, prepared to ask his almost daily question. But as soon as he looked up at Jack, the answer was already written on his sympathetic face. 

 

"H-Have you found..." but Leo stopped himself. 

 

Sadly, Jack Kurtzman slowly shook his head. "Sorry kid, this case has us all stumped. But we'll keep trying, and once we have some new information, I'll let you know right away." 

 

And that was what he always told him. Leo felt his hopes plunge, spiraling down the vortex of despondency.

 

"Alright," he nodded solemnly, "Thank you."

 

Jack tipped his hat, taking his steaming coffee and disappearing up the flight of stairs. 

 

It was unnecessary for the expected news to get to him, so he turned back to his FTO and picked up the pace as he sped back. 

 

Usagi had waited for him, patience a strong virtue that Leonardo would always be grateful for.

 

"So?" Usagi walked by his side, "Do they have any new leads?" 

 

"Nope, of course not," Leo shrugged, "Guess it was meant to be remained a mystery." He hadn't intended on sounding irritated, but his tone must've implied it. Usagi let out a deep breath, placing his hand on his shoulder once more. 

 

"Finding the culprit is not going to change what happened, nor will it bring you any peace. Leonardo...maybe you need to let this go as well."

 

Leo only gave it a split second of thought before dismissing the idea.

 

"Let's just focus on today. We have a car to inspect." 

 

Usagi seemed to drop it, knowing he dove into a sore subject. 

 

Letting go of a discussion with the chief was doable, but Kurtzman's case was a whole other story. 

 

Because Leonardo would never let go of his father's murder. 

 

XXX

 

"But have you ever tried eating hotdogs with jelly before? You wouldn't believe how many things sound disgusting, but taste so awesome."  

 

Michelangelo was a master at maneuvering around Roosevelt High School's hallways with his back turned. Twisting and turning around straining students, the static of high school life brittlely nipped from behind him, but that didn't prevent him from performing his useful skill. 

 

Monday mornings mainly served sour moods, so Mikey loved to sprinkle amusing anecdotes to break monotonous routine and to try and zap away any negative energy that plagued his lethargic friends. Because electricity seemed to constantly rush through his veins during the day, always at a very high voltage that it couldn't always be contained. His bubbly excitement was contagious—or at least, he hoped it was. And having this surplus of bundling energy caused the kid to be way ahead, so in order for him to engage in better conversation, he walked backwards to face his three best friends—Jason, Napoleon, and Renet.

 

"Jelly hot dogs?" Jason scrunched up his nose in distaste, "I don't think I'd even eat that for like, fifty bucks."  Ecru cascaded and rested on his shoulders, the top of his head hidden under the baseball cap he adjusted. A true mascot for teenage spirit, Jason was overt and expressive about his youthful passions of skateboarding and rock bands, yearning to share his loves with everyone in hopes of conversion. Although totally embraced and accepted by his close peers, the teen's vivacious personality had its drawbacks, as he often carried an arrogant attitude. This causes him to be prone to being close-minded and occasionally judgmental. But his heart was bigger than his ego, despite the teenage mindset—a reliable friend Mikey could count on. 

 

"Now normally, I'm not one to judge what someone eats," Napoleon wagged a finger, "But I think I'd draw the line at jelly dogs." In comparison, Napoleon had a more tranquil aura than Jason. He was like crystal-clear water, taking shape based on his surroundings and going with the flow. Transparent, honest. He was one with nature—organic, fresh-faced, and blessed with ignorance that gave him childlike fate. With lanky legs and arms like branches, Napoleon's tree-like structure surpassed all of his friends' height—a tad ironic given the name. Mikey looked up to him in more than a figurative sense as Napoleon shook his head, muttering to himself about how “Jelly and hotdogs should remain separate.”

 

"I'd be down to try it," Renet shrugged, "Who knows, it could turn out to be something I love." And then there was Renet. A sweet gum drop she was, light constantly beaming from her smile. The two had befriended each other years ago, souls only inching closer and closer until they were practically intertwined. 

 

Innocent and authentic, she would transform every chance into an adventure. Her presence was pure and warm—something that melted his heart and spread sunshine throughout his whole body. 

 

Renet was just like that; always at such a high, always all in with no strings attached. Free-falling with faith as her only safety net. 

 

Mikey snickered at his friends' varied reactions as he unknowingly kneaded his sore arm from the vaccination he had been given the day before. 

 

"Well, you should!" he nodded towards Renet, "It's really a weird story how that culinary masterpiece came to be, actually. I used to eat it _all_ the time as kid before—" 

 

Air suddenly whizzed past his ears, but it was too late for him to register that a door was being opened. His friends flinched when his head banged against the swinging door, Mikey stumbling forward a bit upon impact. Maybe he wasn't such a master at blindly sailing through the school halls after all. 

 

"Are you ok, Mikey?" Renet stifled a laugh, Jason and Napoleon failing to do so. 

 

Mikey rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I have a pretty thick skull," he assured, "I'm ok." 

 

Perhaps _he_ was ok, but after scanning the woman stepping out of the room, he knew something wasn't. This Monday morning's routine would definitely rupture, and not because of his jelly dog story. Mikey gently pushed his blonde bangs out of his eyes.

 

The woman was clearly a staff member, one that Mikey couldn't quite recognize. But he was one of the incoming freshmen—he hadn't had the time to meet everyone just yet. Her stiff pantsuit, however, gave him a clue as to what her character was. 

 

A stack of fresh-off-the-press papers were in her hands, the lines on her face revealing that the woman was clearly distraught by the information she held. The others noticed the woman as well, but maybe in not as much detail as Mikey had. 

 

Jason narrowed his chestnut eyes, "Hey, you just like, totally hit our friend with your door. Aren't you gonna say something to him?" 

 

"Jason," Renet tugged him by the sleeve, whispering harshly, "Don't talk to the principal like that! Are you stupid?" 

 

Mikey's eyes widened at the realization, straightening himself and blowing the pom-pom from his beanie that dangled in the middle of his forehead. Mrs. Campbell was rumored to be a very strict, hardhearted principal. He didn't need to get detention during the first month of school—Leo would never let it go. 

 

Jason's voice seemed to have snapped her back, her eyes glossy as she ran fingers through her graying, undone hair. 

 

She cleared her throat, "Oh, I didn't see you there, my apologies. Are you alright?" Her voice was soft and distant as her facial expression fell back into place. It was a bit unnerving hearing her so wistful. 

 

"Totally fine dude," Mikey repeated himself, curiosity pouring in and drowning out everything else. He curled his fingers around his backpack straps tightly, trying his best to discreetly examine the papers in her hands. 

 

But he didn't need to be discreet. Mrs. Campbell reached into her pocket and pulled out a dispenser of tape, sticking one of the papers onto the glass of the door. She shook her head.  

 

"It's a shame," she said to them, "I hope this gets resolved." 

 

Mikey leaned closer into Renet, uneasiness dizzying him as he grew tempted to wrap around her arm. 

 

Peering over her shoulder, harshness crept into Mrs. Campbell's features. "You four should be getting to class, the bell is about to ring." The normalcy should've soothed him, should've cinched him that whatever was going on wasn't serious, but it didn't. 

 

High heels clacked against the hard floor, Mrs. Campbell halting beside Jason to give him a dissonant glare. "And you—get a haircut." 

 

But before Mikey could ask what she had meant earlier, Mrs. Campbell disappeared down the hall, revealing the poster on the door. 

 

Stomach dropping three stories, Michelangelo's world liquefied like water color, washing out sound and fading all chromaticity. Reality hammered his ribs, wrenching his gut and making him gasp as he transfixed on the paper against the glass.  

 

**_MISSING: PETER BROOD_ **

 

A shiver went down his spine; it was a missing person poster. Below the blocked letters was the yearbook photo of freshman Peter Brood; messy brown hair, round, thick glasses, and a big toothy grin that snagged Mikey's heart. 

 

Head underwater, Mikey took a wobbly step closer, delicately tracing the picture with his fingertips as if he could somehow connect with the boy underneath the grooves of his fingerprints. 

 

Muddled voices broke through the surface. 

 

"What did she mean ‘get a haircut’? Do you know how long it took to grow this out?" Jason complained, but was hushed by a smack from, he guessed, Napoleon. 

 

Footsteps thudded behind him. 

 

"Mikey, did you know this guy?" 

 

But he said nothing. Bits of broken memories strewn to all quarters of his mind; pieces of speeches from Leonardo at the dinner table about an increase of vanishing young people. It hadn't affected him too much then, but now as his fingers ghostly glided over the face of a familiar boy, it had finally struck a chord. 

 

"Mikey?" 

 

Suddenly, reality sucked him back in like a vacuum as he quickly turned around to face Renet. 

 

"W-Well," his voice cracked from being so parched, "We weren’t super, but I consider him a friend. We have the same English class." 

 

Concern laced her frown, sadness in her caramel eyes. 

 

Jason soon bent over to take a look. "Peter Brood," he read aloud, "Hey, wasn't he that guy who was obsessed with carrier pigeons?" 

 

Napoleon snapped his fingers, "Pigeon Pete! I knew I heard of him before." 

 

"Yeah, he was a real freak." Jason sniggered, though the laughter opened a gateway for guilt to snake into Mikey.

 

"Yeah, he was weird," Mikey couldn't lie, "Kind of awkward, creepy even." And yet he felt the dull ache of sympathy roll in his chest. He continued to read the poster.

 

**_Last seen on Friday, September 9th at 10:00 p.m._ **

 

"That was just last Friday," Mikey voiced his thoughts. Frowning, he reminisced in his times with Pete. He bowed his head, staring at the tiles on the floor. Yellow, green, yellow, green. Guilt wrapped its tentacles with a vice grip around his conscience. Yellow, green, yellow, green. 

 

"You know, he'd always tell me the randomest stories about his pigeons before class started. No one else would bother to listen to him—I could've been, like, his only friend in the entire world." 

 

Images strobed behind his eyelids, ones of Peter sharing his tall tales with wild hand gestures and the widest smile you would've ever seen. 

 

Silence lingered, Mikey lifting his head up a bit to see his three friends trade glances with each other.

 

"Well," Jason said to him, "He probably just got in a fight with his parents and ran away from home or something. I bet he'll come back by Wednesday." Jason craned himself away from the door, walking down the path they were heading before this whole interruption. Mikey could tell that his friend was making an effort to lessen his worry, but it didn't quite do the trick.

 

"Why would he run away from home? He didn't seem to be unhappy with his family before." Mikey shoved his shaky hands in his worn-out sweatshirt pocket.

 

"Sometimes people surprise us," Napoleon said, following Jason's lead. 

 

"Deep," Jason smirked, nudging Napoleon's shoulder. A ghost of a smile tugged at Mikey, but he couldn't quite shake off the news yet. 

 

The school bell chimed, almost as if it was attempting to remind him he had other things to stress about. Seeing Jason and Napoleon already on their way, Mikey looked over to see Renet still by his side.

 

"The police will find him," she spoke up, tucking a strand of her light brown hair behind her ear. 

 

Mentioning police transported him back home, recalling his eldest brother, Leonardo. Leo had that stubborn quality to him when it came to his job as a police officer, surely he would find him. Even if he knew deep down that that wasn't how it worked, it was assuring to put Leo on his heroic pedestal like he tended to do. 

 

"Yeah...the police will find him," Mikey repeated to himself in affirmation, ceasing the trembling in his hands. And it was after that statement that Michelangelo decided to drop it for now, for his friends' sakes. It was only Monday after all; he needed to keep things lively throughout the whole school week, he couldn't fall apart now. He nodded at Renet, trekking his way to the class he'd be late to. 

 

 

 

No one in his English class expressed any hint of caring about Mikey's late arrival, and he connoted that the other classmates grew accustom to his habits. Cold air stuck to his skin while bile burned the back of his throat at how his world didn't seem to account the loss. Like Peter Brood's disappearance was all an elaborate prank, or like him being missing didn't even matter—how desperate he wished for this to be a practical joke. 

 

Pushing through the thick barrier of teen gossip, the boy trudged his way over to his lonely desk. Isolated and abandoned it looked, Mikey sighing before plopping down in his seat. He rubbed his sore arm. 

 

Should he dare to look back? Should he dare allow that upon himself? The thing about Mikey was that he almost never could pass up a dare. 

 

And so he turned around. And not surprisingly, the desk was vacant. All emotions came to a screeching stop, suspended in his desolate body. This wasn't a prank—it was all genuine. He endured the sharp pain of his optimism tediously tearing apart from him, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from where his friend was supposed to be. Waiting and hoping he would somehow magically appear in his chair, going off on an excuse about how his pigeons were to blame—though hope was dwindling with each blink.

 

_"Listen up class. Some of you might not have heard..."_

 

Waiting and waiting...

 

_"...but a student from this class has gone missing..."_

 

And waited and waited.

 

XXX

 

Plucking strings vibrated and echoed; a sound that should've brought him serenity, but didn't. Instead, he found his heart being swayed by the vibration, his chest rattling with pangs of guilt. Gentle guitar hit his ears, but it never stayed. It just rippled right through him, hallow and cold. 

 

"Mikey!"

 

His name hooked Mikey's mind, yanking him back to shore from swimming in his thoughts. He looked over to his older brother Raphael, guitar resting on his lap and annoyance written all over his face. 

 

"Were you even listening to me at all?" Raph said. 

 

Copper eyes were sharp and seemingly unforgiving, dark hair almost long enough to cover one of them. It was almost comedic how much of a rocker vibe radiated from his seventeen-year-old brother, and it most definitely intrigued Mikey. Ripped jeans, leather jackets, and all. He found it fun and expressive and exhilarating, and he enjoyed tagging along on his brother's wild ride to self-discovery. Leonardo, on the other hand, was not so charmed, constantly complaining about how ridiculous his half-shaven hairstyle was and how irresponsible he was becoming. But no matter how much of a tough-guy act Raph would put up, his true nature was pretty transparent to Michelangelo. 

 

In this instant, however, it was evident that Raphael was genuinely irritated. Mikey came clean and shook his head. 

 

Raph scowled. "Airhead."

 

Mikey stuck his tongue out, but concerns continued to cling onto him, so he didn't bother to throw an insult back. He simply shifted on the couch, readjusting so that he could sink deeper into the cushion, and sink and drown further in his worries. He flicked the pompom dangling from his earflap beanie. 

 

The homely Manhattan apartment was a culture clash, their Japanese-Italian heritage colorfully displayed for everyone to take notice. Bamboo silk trees and rustic Tuscan paintings, fancy wine bottles and Japanese sayings hung on the walls. One wouldn't suspect for something so _hardy_ and something so _fine_ to ever harmoniously fuse together; the two would simply just not create a homogenous mixture. But in fact, the interior design just so happened to fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle. 

 

Though it was obvious that there were missing pieces in their family now.

 

Framed above the cabinets in the kitchen was a Japanese saying that Mikey hadn't took the time to read in quite some time. Baby blue eyes scanned the symbols, the boy trying his best to distract himself from his heartache. 

 

_“Kokestu ni irazunba koji wo ezu.”_

 

 _If you do not enter the tiger's cave, you will not catch its cub._ Meaning, that nothing in life could ever be accomplished without motivation and willingness to take risks. Wheels began to turn, cogs clinking and churning as Michelangelo indulged himself in this proverb, applying it to his own situation at hand. Soon, his comfort became uncomfortable. Sitting here, safe and sound while his friend...

 

The question revealed itself: Was _he_ willing to take the risks? 

 

"You ok, Mikey?" Mikey heard Donatello call out from the kitchen behind him. The kid pushed his thoughts away and his legs up, standing on the couch cushion as he rotated around to see his tallest brother reheating cold pizza in the microwave. "While I enjoy the silence probably more than anyone, it's starting to become unnerving coming from you." 

 

Donatello must've been the most over-analytical sixteen-year-old Mikey would ever have the pleasure of knowing, even if sometimes it wasn't such a pleasure. This brother of his was blessed with keen insight and bright intelligence, though ironically it would often shine so bright it would blind simple solutions and answers. 

 

"I'm fine Donnie," Mikey assured. The microwave beeped and Donnie pulled the pizza out. 

 

"You haven't said much since we  got home from school," he set the sizzling pizza on the counter and made his way towards him. "Are you feeling ok?" 

 

Donnie extended a hand toward Mikey's forehead, but Mikey grabbed and twisted his wrist before he could touch. "I'm not sick D," he chuckled softly at his catch, "Don't be such a worrywart—I just have a lot on my mind. Or rather just one mega, humongous, colossal thing on my mind."

 

"You? Thinking? Don't hurt yourself." 

 

"Quiet Raph," Mikey whipped his head around to give him a pout. Raph only responded with a smirk from the ottoman by the heater, nonchalantly bolstering his guitar against the wall and pushing the hair out of his eye. 

 

"Well then, what's making you such a mopey mess?" Donnie asked, patience wavering. 

 

So Mikey took a deep breath, attempting his best to exhale his heavy worries. "I'm just upset about Pete," he admitted, feeling as though he had shrunk. 

 

"Pete? Who's Pete?" the casual tone in Raph's voice caused Mikey's fears to feel fluidly. Was it relieving, or was it disturbing? 

 

Raph stood and squished his toes into the carpet, cruising into the kitchen to bury his head into the fridge.

 

"Is Pete the kid who went missing last Friday?" Donnie asked. Donnie was invariably on the same page, never failing to connect the dots. He was a genius like that. 

 

Mikey jumped off the couch and nodded vigorously, "Yeah! He's in my English class. People call him Pigeon Pete because he has a bunch of pet carrier pigeons." 

 

"Oh, Pigeon Pete," Raph said in between guzzling milk from the carton, "yeah, that kid's a nutcase." 

 

 Defenses began to build up.

 

"Well yeah, but he was my nutcase-friend," Mikey told them. His stomach knotted at the idea of someone from his class being in harm's way. A little too close to home, a little too close for comfort.

 

"Don't worry about it Mikey, I'm sure he'll turn up eventually. He probably just went to a friend's house and didn't tell his parents or something." Donnie picked at the pizza on his plate.

 

 _How could everyone brush this aside like Pete's some lost puppy?_ Mikey wondered if they were all just being overprotective and sparing his feelings.

 

"That's what my friends were saying...but what if something, you know, _happened_ to him?" Mikey argued anxiously. 

 

Raph joked, "What if he just flew off to live a new life as a pigeon?" 

 

And he tried to imagine that, tried to hope for the best that whatever the situation was, that it wasn't as grave as he believed it was. He took a calming breath. 

 

"Well, maybe. If that was what really happened to Pete, I'd totally support that." Mikey said with the purest honesty. 

 

Just then, the clinking of keys came from outside the door. 

 

"Don't worry, I promise it won't take long," Mikey heard the familiar voice say from out in the hall.

 

The front door popped open, Leonardo entering the apartment with tired eyes, a bag of cat food balanced on his hip, and a friend by his side.

 

Mikey felt a smile stretch from ear to ear. 

 

"Usagi!" he had burst, previous sadness temporarily sizzling away. Mikey wrapped his arms around Usagi, causing him to stumble backwards by the sudden collision. 

 

The man laughed, ruffling Mikey's golden hair, "Hello Michelangelo. How is your arm?" 

 

Mikey let go, instinctively rubbing his sore arm. "You told him?" he glowered up at his oldest brother, who was smirking back at him. "Not cool dude," Mikey jutted his lip, speculating just how many embarrassing details Leo told him. He bit the inside of his cheeks to keep them from glowing any shades of red.

 

Leo playfully shoved him with his free arm, setting down the cat food onto the marble kitchen counter. 

 

"Hey Leo, hey Usagi, what are you guys doing here?" Donnie entered the conversation, "Come to take Raph away?" 

 

"Hardy har har," Raph rolled his eyes, finally shutting the fridge to see his brother and friend. 

 

It wasn't until Donnie made the humorous comment that Mikey perceived that the two were still fully uniformed. 

 

"We aren't staying," Leo informed them, "We have to direct traffic downtown. Just came by to drop off food for the cat and to make you guys dinner." 

 

Mikey bristled. "You? Make dinner? Why can't I do it?" 

 

Leonardo was capable of multiple skills, but cooking was not one of them. That department was definitely dominated by Mikey. It was his way of coping when he had to start abiding by his strict diet plan a few years back. 

 

"Of course you could do it again," Leo opened the cupboards, "But I didn't think you'd want to considering how much "pain" you're in." 

 

"You act like I broke my arm!"

 

Usagi and Donnie's sniggering could be heard, making Mikey's ears burn. 

 

"Well that's how you acted yesterday. Besides, I just want to have a mental break and do something else before going back out again. Look, how about I feed you guys, while you feed your cat." 

 

Michelangelo understood the overwhelming amount of stress and pressure Leo was under these days and couldn't find it in him to fight over it. Sighing, Mikey snatched the bag of cat food off the counter. "Fine, fine." 

 

Tearing it open, he made a clicking noise with his tongue, calling out for his precious feline. 

 

"C'mere Klunk! I've got your dinner all ready for ya!" the boy traipsed over to the bowl on the kitchen tile, kicking it so that the metal would clang. 

 

It only took a matter of seconds for the orange fur ball to come prancing down the hallway, mewing excitedly. 

 

"Hey there little mama, how have you been hmm?" he got on his knees and poured the kibble, petting her and causing her to purr. 

 

Hearing pots clashing compelled Mikey to return his focus to his own meal. 

 

"Well, you can at least tell me what you're making so I can make the perfect excuse as to why I can't eat it," he snared to Leonardo. 

 

"You'll be happy to know," he said over his shoulder, "I'm making Mom Spaghetti." 

 

"That's a relief," Raph plopped himself on the stool by the counter.

 

Mikey's eyes widened with animation as he went to tug his friend's sleeve, "You want some Mom Spaghetti, Usagi?"

 

But he only smiled. "It's alright, I can provide for myself. Leonardo, I will be back to pick you up so we can head out."

 

"See you then." 

 

Mikey sat besides Raph, elbows on the countertop and chin resting in the palms of his hands. He observed Leo's movements in the kitchen, itching to correct and show off his culinary skills and tricks. But he held back the temptation—Leo tended to wish to do things by himself. 

 

Once the pasta was made, Leo eddied himself around. "Spaghetti is done—where's Donnie?" 

 

Mikey hauled himself up as if pulled by puppet strings. "He said something about already eating leftovers and having homework to do." 

 

Donatello was often found secluding himself in the confinements of his room, especially recently. They all assumed that it was his way of dealing with stress and change. 

 

Leo lightly shook his head disconcertingly, placing the pot and dishes in front of Mikey and Raph.     

 

Mikey didn't waste any time as he grabbed a plate, scooping the noodles and splatting some sauce (or gravy—whatever the darned thing was called).  

 

"So," Leonardo leaned against the kitchen island, "Was your guys' day any better than mine?" 

 

Mikey stopped midway twisting his fork, raising his eyebrows. It seemed like he was always being cornered and lead to dead-ends. 

 

"Probably," Raph interrupted Mikey's thoughts, "Nothing really happened. But I'm going to go and rehearse with Casey tomorrow." 

 

 Stuffing his mouth full of spaghetti, the youngest tried to avoid having to answer. 

 

"Mikey? What about you?" 

 

The boy shot his head up, a noodle dangling from his lips. 

 

"Welllll," food fell from his mouth as he stared at Leonardo. Might as well get the news over with, no matter how badly he didn't want those presentiments to resurface. 

 

"Someone from school named Pigeon Pete—well his name is Peter Brood, but everyone nicknamed him Pigeon Pete because he has a weird thing for pigeons—I found out today that he was missing, he was on a missing poster and everything! Like the ones you see on milk cartons and stapled to trees, and he's been missing since last Friday—that's four days! Everyone says he's probably fine, but I know him, I doubt he'd just take off like that without any notice or anything, and—"

 

"Whoa whoa whoa, slow down Mikey," Leo instructed. He took a deep breath as to demonstrate an example he should follow; Mikey mirrored the exercise but it didn't seem to do much. Bedevilment still burned his bones, regardless of his oldest brother’s attempts at comfort. Leo furrowed his eyebrows in seriousness, concentration wrinkling his forehead. "So a friend of yours from school went missing? 

 

"Yeah," Mikey stabbed his fork into his dinner, "And nobody seems to care but me." 

 

"Hey, now that's not true. I understand that this has an effect on you."

 

"I just can't help but feel like something happened to him. What if he was..." Mikey left the thought hanging. Gut now coiling, his heart began to pound against the walls of his chest.

 

"Look at you two—you guys are both gonna get gray hairs if you keep acting like this," Raph told them, "Where's your usual annoying optimism, Mikey?" 

 

He shot a side glance to his brother and then brought it back to his plate. That was a good question. Where _was_ it? The answer, "I don't know." 

 

"And Leo," Raphael raised his eyebrows, "They're handling the situation down at the station, right?" 

 

Leo nodded, standing upright, "Right, you're right."

 

"Then alright," Raph shoved in a mouthful of spaghetti to conclude the discussion. 

 

Mikey only let out a low whine, chewing slowly with a moue on his freckled face. Memories threatened to prick at his eyes; he rubbed them just to ensure that nothing spilled over. 

 

The sudden soft touch of a brother's hand made him avert his eyes upward. 

 

 Leonardo was smiling with condolence, the signature twinkle in his sapphire eyes shining extra luminously.  

 

"C'mon, go and watch T.V or something to keep your mind off of it."

 

T.V sounded nice, almost therapeutic at the moment. Nodding in obedience, Mikey slid off the counter stool and cantered over to T.V on the other side of the apartment. 

 

Luckily, he had hidden the remote from Raphael in between the couch cushions last night. Rummaging through the leather cushions, he fished out the remote and he clicked the power button with ease. 

 

But his usual cartoons weren't  displayed on the screen, but rather Channel Six News. Reporter Carlos Chiang O'Brien Gambe's countenance didn't complement his words, almost like he were a poorly dubbed anime. Mikey stiffened, sensing Leo and Raph coming up behind him. 

 

"...several authorities are advising minors to stay indoors by nine o'clock to ensure their safety. These so called "Purple Dragon" gang members have proven to be a violent threat, and it's no coincidence that their crime activity spiked at the same time as the rate of missing persons. So keep an eye out for your kids, and steer clear of any suspicious activity." 

 

The remote hit the floor. A commercial for a furniture sale. Jello legs. Butterflies ebbed and nipped in the pit of his stomach, throat closing up. 

 

"Don't think I'm not going to enforce this curfew," Leo's voice sounded far away as Mikey's theorizations sped and zipped to all corners of his mind, buzzing like electricity. Though his eyes were fixated at the flickering screen, he paid no attention to his sense of sight to solely devote every fiber of his body and mind to the news he was trying to calculate. 

 

_Gangs and violent threats and Peter Brood and missing persons and Purple Dragons._

 

And a new word he conjured up himself— _kidnap_. 

 

 _Kidnapped, kidnapped, kidnapped—_ it drummed in his ears and rushed in his veins. 

 

Mikey blinked hard, backing away from Raph and Leo's debate over curfew until he was pressed against the wall. 

 

"Pete..." he whispered to himself, "Oh man..." 

 

A door creaked, footsteps coming after that.

 

Donatello's utterance was laced with gentleness yet curious concern, "Mikey? What's—"

 

The overstimulation grew to be too overwhelming.

 

"Don't you see guys?!" Mikey suddenly shouted, creating a blanket of silence to fall over the three older brothers. "Those dragon dudes took Pigeon Pete!" 

 

Leonardo, Raphael, and Donatello all offered him blank stares before one of them had the courage to speak up first.

 

"I think you're jumping to conclusions."

 

"No I'm not Donnie," he whirled to his left to see the surprised look on Donatello, "What else could've happened?! They took Peter!" 

 

They had to have had. It was the only solution that made perfect sense. Pete was kidnapped, ripped apart from his life. They did this. 

 

"Why would the Purple Dragons kidnap kids? That doesn't seem like their kind of style," Raph tried to point out. 

 

Donnie weakly backed him up, "Yeah, besides, you know the media likes to twist the truth." 

 

"They didn't have to twist the truth about Pete, because he's actually missing. Him, and a lot of other people. I _know_ the Purple Dragons took them, I can _feel_ it in my gut. And...and we gotta do something about it!" Mikey stamped his foot for emphasis. 

 

Raph threw his hands up in frustration and exasperation, "What are you proposing we should do? Huh? Ask them nicely?" 

 

Mikey could definitely do without the sarcasm. 

 

"I don't know! But we can't just do nothing!"

 

"Trust me Mikey, when I say police are all over it. They'll find them," Mikey watched Leo step towards his direction. 

 

"Yeah, because they've already found so many other people." The snide remark had rolled off his tongue without much foresight. Leonardo froze, taken aback by the comment and looking almost offended by it. But what was said was said, and right now Michelangelo was too heated to care.

 

Because no one seemed to be grasping the big picture he was trying to portray, no one even bothered to try to understand. This wasn't just Peter, this wasn't just the Purple Dragons. This was for _everyone_ , including themselves. The lack of inclination and intrigued interest shocked him. They all possessed the power inside them to end this, and prevent any other event like it—he _felt_ it.

 

It was his seventh sense for him to detect these kinds of misfortunes and suspicions, and perhaps they could all benefit from that. 

 

_If you do not enter the tiger's cave, you will not catch its cub._

 

"You know, this whole thing could be like a sign," he unattached himself from the wall, picking up a pace. "Maybe we were meant to do this! Protect the innocent civilians of Manhattan!" The suppressed idea began to overflow out of Mikey, eagerness filling his being; like the puzzle was becoming whole again. "Helping people! This could be our whole life's meaning! We've got to help them!" He planted himself and finally looked up at his family. "I've got to help them." 

 

They were moved by his speech for about a second or two. Donatello and Leonardo both crossed their arms, Raphael's hands clenched. 

 

"Mikey, you've gone completely looney," Raph spat, pointing a menacing finger directly at him, "You better swear to god that you aren't going to get yourself tangled up with these gangs." 

 

Fate in his brothers deteriorated, desperation failing to hide itself.

 

"But—"

 

"Michelangelo," all three said simultaneously. 

 

Their previous blank stares transformed into eyeing him with looks as sharp as daggers. They penetrated right through, making the child feel vulnerable and defeated in more than one way. 

 

And he knew well that he was alone. 

 

The boy gained his bearings, mustering up his last bit of courage and giving them all one last hard look.

 

"Dad would've wanted us to do this."

 

Michelangelo then stormed off, slamming the door so that it could speak when the rest of the world fell silent.

 

 

XXX

 

**Preview for _Chapter 2: Solidifying Identities_ !**

 

_April clamped a hand over his mouth, shushing him and yanking him by the sleeve._

_It was almost sad to see Casey seemingly implacable and so desperate as he searched for something to destroy._

_“Did someone find Pigeon Pete?!”_

 

**Coming September 14th !**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QEB PRK FP RM,  
> JLROKFKD CXP ZYLJB,  
> QOXDBAV CXP YBDRK.


	3. Solidifying Identities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teenage years are known to involve the psychological crisis of identity confusion—Donatello and the others are no exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for disappearing, life got in the way. I'll be posting Chapter 3 today as well to make up for my absence.

 

_**Chapter 2: Solidifying Identities** _

 

Condensation painted the glass like a heather gray sky, his mind clouded as he felt like he was walking through a billowing fog. This wasn't a new concept—of course that thought had snuck into his heart a few times, but it had never struck him so hard. He rested his forehead against the cold window. 

 

Perhaps it was because of how the thought came to be, how it was ripened by someone he hadn't expected. He could definitely imagine Leonardo planting the seed into him, maybe even Raphael, but he never forecasted little Michelangelo to utter such sullen words. 

 

_You know, this whole thing could be like a sign. Maybe we were meant to do this! Protect the innocent civilians of Manhattan! Helping people! This could be our whole life's meaning! We've got to help them!_

 

And it was those words that had fallen from Michelangelo, that sapling of an idea that he had long buried, that had rooted and taken home in his fragile soul. 

 

Donatello stared at the black tinted window, wishing it weren't so opaque so that he could reminisce in the candied childhood memories that were locked away inside. 

 

The building was sold and bought months ago, the obsolete facility still being renovated to revolutionize into something entirely new. He felt his heart twinge—usually Donatello wasn't the sentimental type, consistently searching for ways to ameliorate and advance; to rive and reconstruct so that it was more productive. And he understood that keeping the building would do nothing but harvest remaining feelings and drain their finances, and that its new owners would put it to good use. Yet the heart-striking thought that his father's dojo would no longer exist...

 

Donnie took a step back away from the old children's dojo and sighed. Digging into the past, he plowed and churned and grounded up the flourishing soils that his collection of memories with the dojo thrived in.

 

The bell would chime every time someone entered the Hamato Clan's Dojo, a sound that now only reverberated in his hollow chest. He recalled all those early morning walks when him and his brothers were young, taking little Michelangelo by the hand as their father led them inside, teaching them all the fine art of ninjutsu. 

 

 _We're all going to be ninjas_. Such an idea had always enamored the boys, and to Donnie, it was something that would be considered cool. Ninjutsu seemed to be the only cool aspect of him in the whole spectrum that was Donatello, the number one trait that he was overt and unashamed about. 

 

Blue mats had patterned the floor of the dojo, and Donatello would always stand on the one in between Raph and Mikey—father liked it that way. Oldest to youngest, and vice versa. 

 

Bruises, bandaids, trips, and falls--ninjutsu didn't come as easy for him as it did for Leo. Leonardo was a natural, truly talented he was. And Donnie couldn't help but feel that pang of jealousy whenever he saw that spark of pride in Yoshi's eyes, but they wouldn't shine in his direction. Success was an idea that Donatello had desperately craved ever since he was a boy, and he couldn't function with failure. Despite this fault, for the times he did mess up, the times he did utilize his bo staff incorrectly, and for every time he did fall, his father was there to pick him back up. He wasn't just a father, but a sensei. A master. 

 

Yoshi had known exactly what he wanted to do with his life. He knew himself, his passions, his skills. It was almost as if he was born with his life planned out, like he was destined to master and teach ninjutsu to young people. He knew his calling, and he knew his life's meaning. 

 

Petrichor sweetly wafted in the afternoon air, evidence of last night's rain being in almost every sense. Donatello was aware that he should be leaving soon, he didn't want to keep her waiting too long. 

 

Trigonometry tutoring was to be on Tuesday evenings, a wedge in his busy schedule dedicated to nurturing and connecting dots—but he would gladly sacrifice every second to aid her, even if it was just mathematics. 

 

 _You have a gift, you know_ , his teachers would inform him. _Intelligence way beyond your years! You should be extremely proud!_

 

And he would be lying if he said that he was humble about his intelligence. He was even granted the opportunity to skip junior year, in which he seized and ravished the golden wish of moving out of high school.  

 

Encouragement, rewards, praises— _success_ —he was addicted, even intoxicated on his self-pride from time to time. 

 

He wondered if there was such thing as too much of a good thing, and even something as treasured as human knowledge could turn from gold to dust. Humanity hindered perfection, even for Donnie, as his understanding of science proved to turn against him now and then. 

 

_You are too focused on the mind, and not on your physical strength; you must become as powerful as the mountain._

 

Sensei taught him that, and it was then that he had become fully aware of the growing mentality, that his heavy reliance on being a ‘genius’ was becoming a crutch he couldn't bear to live without. A weakness that if stripped away, would crumble his delicate identity.  

 

He was a genius, but once that was gone, he was only a shell of a human being. Gutted out just like the empty dojo in front of him. 

 

Shoving his cold hands into his pockets, Donnie departed from the sight, heading for his true destination and hoping he wouldn't get distracted again. He gazed up at the overcast sky.

 

With about 7.125 billion people in the world, more than 1700 discovered planets, and almost one billion trillion stars, finding meaning in life was something he struggled dealing with. Vines of self-doubt tangled and constricted, thorns jabbing and piercing into him until he couldn't breathe. Donnie tried to not let his emotions poison his logic or damage his health, but sudden moments like last night with Mikey would make his whole world spin. 

 

Walking along the pavement, soggy leaves stuck to his shoes, wind blowing through his thick cinnamon hair and causing him to adjust the scarf around his neck. It seemed pretty cold for September, but maybe the universe was just solicitous about all the things weighing down on Donatello's head. 

 

Autumn is expressed as the season of change, the season where life leads you to a fork in the road. It was when school started, when temptation would appear at every corner, when the ease of summer roughly threw everyone back into reality. And Donnie wondered if he needed to change to find that meaning in his life, or if he needed to wait for life to do that for him. 

 

Trees bared bright reds and oranges and browns, and he thought it was ironic that people often only found leaves beautiful once they were dead. He gripped his backpack straps tightly.

 

After a few minutes into his brisk stroll, Donatello reached the address he had memorized since he was eight years old. The red bricked apartment complex helped suppress his depressive mood, the familiar sight automatically lifting his spirits. 

 

Out of routine, Donatello beelined straight to the slick fire escape, gripping the ladder tightly to not slip from old raindrops as he began scaling the apartment. Sure, he always could just go inside and to the front door, but she had claimed that it was more adventurous if he came in through her bedroom window. It was tradition ever since they were mere children. 

 

With every passing moment of his ascend, Donnie could feel his youthful happiness elevate higher and higher knowing the princess that was waiting for him at the end of his climb. 

 

The stairs groaned from under him, but the noise went hardly noticed. Heart now pounding in his chest, the corners of his lips curved as he approached her bedroom window. 

 

He gave it a few raps, anticipating for her to warmly greet him. 

 

April— a name, originating from Latin, derived from the word " _aperire_ ", meaning _open_ —and it was the perfect description, considering she had always been the person he could open up to the most. Soft as a budding rose, her eyes shimmering like crystals and a comforting aura seemed to blanket him. April O'Neil was the one on the other line of his three a.m. calls when insomnia plagued his shadowy nights, the arms that kept him afloat through every wave of anxiety that crashed on his shores, the lighthouse that guided him out of foggy times such as this. 

 

The O'Neils had been friends with the Hamatos for almost a decade, supporting the small family during its most difficult crisis. With Mr. O'Neil being a psychologist, Donnie's family was probably his number one client with the tornado of a life they've had. But April and her parents were a loyal trio, a true solid foundation when the winds of tragedy would buffer and bend their dwindling strength. 

 

And Donnie knew April would always be there when he needed it, arms open wide. 

 

April had even been there for him when his father died. 

 

Donatello tapped the window a little harder. Squinting his eyes, he peered through the space between her buttercream curtains, her bedroom mysteriously dark and seemingly empty. Nothing moved, everything deathly still. Pressing his face against the glass, he wondered for a split second if she had forgotten about the tutor session. He lifted his hand to knock again, when suddenly a pale face separated the two curtains, jumping right in front of his view. Startled, Donnie stumbled a bit, catching his balance before anything disastrous could happen as he stood two stories on a fire escape. 

 

With pupils the size of pins, she scrambled to open her bedroom window, obviously racing for him to come in. 

 

"April?" the window opened, Donnie stepping closer to the frightened girl, "What's wrong—"

 

April clamped a hand over his mouth, shushing him and yanking him by the sleeve. Questions and demands were proven useless, his voice muffled as she continued to tug and pull him in through the window. After not-so-gracefully tumbling into the bedroom, he finally pried her hand off his face. 

 

"Nice to see you too," he said sarcastically. But April didn't sense any humor, going and slamming her bedroom door, discombobulated and flustered. Fiery red stray hairs spewed in all directions and dark circles were under her glossy blue eyes, and Donnie could deduce that her previous night was restless. Rubbing her hands together, her signature yellow jacket didn't seem to warm her shivers. Donatello's eyebrows knitted together with concern—he had never seen April so shaken before. 

 

It put him on edge—she was usually so levelheaded, hardly ever lost her cool like this—and yet at this instance, she was behaving incoherently. This must be something of great proportions—at least in April's world. 

 

Composedly mincing up to her, he placed a hand on her shoulder, "April, relax. Did something happen to you?" His mind began to run wild with ideas and theories of what could be wrong. Examining her, his eyes trickled up and down, scoping for any bodily injuries that may have been inflicted onto her. 

 

April took a deep breath, shutting her eyes and reducing her nervousness. "I...I have to tell you something. Something I haven't told anyone else." She fidgeted with one of her pigtails, a cute quirk Donnie had detected some time ago.  

 

"Alright, just please calm down, it's going to be ok." He directed her to her queen-sized bed, the two of them instinctively sitting beside each other. Donatello grabbed one pillow out of the plethora, watching her twiddle her thumbs and stare at her blue tennis shoes. 

 

Together they sat in silence, Donnie's persistent tendencies for social awkwardness now clinging onto his nerves. Waiting for her to share her worries, he studied her habits and focused in on her delicate face. Allured by the freckles that lightly peppered April's cheeks, he often got lost in them, counting and connecting them like they were tiny constellations. She was a galaxy all on her own, and right now, she had poured herself into his cracked hands. He held the pillow close to his chest.

 

With her thoughts clearly jumbled, he decided not to say anything to her, and to let her open when she wished to. 

 

Looking around the teenage girl's bedroom, a flow of memories came to him. 

 

Donatello had watched April's room transform from fairy princess pinks, to Hot Topic and black curtains during that phase in middle school, up to now, a beige, modern look with a youthful twist to it. 

 

Textbooks, notebooks, pencils were all in their organized place on her polished desk, her bookshelf completely shelved with stories of mystery and science-fiction, and on display was her tessen. His father had been the one to push her into dabbling into ninjutsu, and she had instantly fell in love with the art. But how she would ever graduate to kunoichi, Donnie didn't even know. 

 

All four walls were decorated with band posters and string lights and polaroids. Donnie smiled a bit at the photographs. Some were of April and her parents, some with her girls, but most were of her with him and his brothers. The childhood memories of the dojo may have been sold, but at least he found security in the O'Neil's and their apartment.

 

Memories of him and his brothers playing in April's room as children, hiding under tables and behind planters in games of hide and seek, the time Raph and Leo accidentally made a hole in the wall— _oh, was dad furious_. 

 

Before Donatello could laugh at remembering that whole fiasco, April beat him to it. 

 

"I'm being so ridiculous right now," she said exasperatingly, wiping away tears that managed to fight to the surface. When was the last time he saw April O'Neil cry? 

 

"April—"

 

"I know, I know," she threw her hands up, "It's just all a little overwhelming." The bed creaked when she stood up and she began to pace. 

 

"Donatello?" her eyes glistened, her voice croaking and failing to hide her fear. "I'm telling you this because you're the smartest guy I know. And...and I just need some reassurance." 

 

Donnie nodded affirmatively, prepared to soak in the information she was about to give him. He crossed his legs, making himself comfortable on her bed. 

 

April laughed to herself, "You're going to think I'm freaking crazy. But..." she took a deep breath, baring a brave face, "On Friday night, I had...a _dream_."

 

He cocked an eyebrow. "A dream? Or a nightmare?" 

 

"No, no. It wasn't just a nightmare. It felt...it felt like I was _there_ , Donnie. I felt the rain roll off my skin, I felt their hot breath hit my ears, felt their hands rip and tear at me, they grabbed me Donnie, except it wasn't really me, I-I don't—"

 

"Woah, woah, April slow down," Donnie said, "Just tell me what happened in your dream."

 

She played with her hair apprehensively, "You're right, I'm sorry." 

 

April ambled over back to her bed, gently sitting in front of Donnie with her knees tucked softly under herself.  

 

"It was late at night," she explained, "and I—or rather, _he_ —got attacked by these guys." 

 

"He?"

 

"Well, while in the dream, I was aware that I wasn't myself...I was some boy, if this makes any sense." The comforter crumpled under them. 

 

Donnie nodded, understanding the complexity of dreams. 

 

"And I just excused it as being some crazy nightmare. But then I went to school on Monday, and then I saw the news last night..." April began to shake again, Donnie resting a comforting hand on her lap. Whipping her head up, she gazed into his eyes, Donnie inwardly awed by all the stars that shone in them. "You heard about Peter Brood, right?" 

 

And the stars fell. Donatello clutched the pillow on his lap, his stomach knotting at the mention of Pigeon Pete. "Y-Yeah, he was a friend of Mikey's. But what does that have to do with—"

 

"I was _Peter_ , Donnie," she motioned towards herself, "I could tell. It wasn't just a dream...it was a vision." 

 

Donnie was stupefied, all running thoughts coming to an abrupt halt. Before he could even form words on his tongue, April continued. 

 

"Not only that," she looked away, fingers twitching but voice thick as molasses, "but I can just...sense things sometimes. Like, where something is, or when something bad is going to happen..." 

 

"April, what are you—"

 

"I think I'm psychic." 

 

The grip on the pillow was freed, his face contorting into an expression that he was aware was probably inconsiderate. Eyes wide, brows raised, and a bent frown. However, Donnie was dumbfounded at the unfathomable statement. April was an intelligent young girl, very bright and logical—for her to be suggesting such a stretch as to being psychic seemed almost like mockery to her own self. 

 

"Psychic...?" The word crumbled as it fell from his mouth. 

 

April smiled sadly, blinking away the rest of her tears, "I know, it sounds completely nuts. But I thought if anyone could explain this all to me, it would be you." All of April's walls had fallen, every emotional barrier being stripped away and leaving her entirely vulnerable, which was something Donnie knew April hated. Sympathy coiled in his gut. 

 

He shifted more comfortably on the bed, leaning back onto the bedpost. "Are you sure you shouldn't ask your dad about it? I'm positive he's a much better dream interpreter than me, he is a psychologist after all." 

 

"No, Donnie please don't tell anyone about this. He won't take me seriously," she grabbed ahold of his hands, his cold, chapped skin feeling warm under her's, "I thought that this could just be a secret between you and me." 

 

Blood rushed to his face as he bit the inside of his cheeks. A secret _._ Just by the hearing the word alone, Donnie could feel the bond between them beginning to strengthen, and their overall unspoken connection becoming much louder. A secret was the gateway to a whole new world that would only explored by the two of them, and the two of them alone—an idea that Donatello had wished for long time now. Isolated by themselves to map out and navigate the deepest corners of their relationship, as well as the problem that plagued April. 

 

And Donnie couldn't help but feel honored that out of 7.125 billion people, he was the one she chose to confide this secret to. 

 

"Do you think I'm crazy, Donnie?"

 

A voice as sweet as vanilla extracted him from his wandering daydreams, but the question she had asked left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

"Of course not April, the idea of psychics has been around since ancient times, and technically science has yet to fully debunk it—" 

 

"Do you...do you think you could look into it for me?" she smiled innocently as if she knew that Donnie would be tripped by her adorable charm. The roots of self-doubt that had invaded his soul began to wither and break away, budding confidence blooming in his lungs and inviting a swarm of butterflies. 

 

Donatello sat up straight, smiling wider than he had in a while. "Of course, anything for you April." 

 

April sniffled, wiping her nose with her jacket sleeve as she began to laugh off her embarrassment. "I'm sorry I totally freaked out and practically dragged you inside."

 

"Don't worry, I'll live," Donnie smirked playfully.

 

"I guess with having to write about Pete for the school newspaper, I got a little worked up about it." Laying down and sprawling out on her bed, she stared directly at the ceiling. "I really do think he was kidnapped, vision or not. It all adds up when you think about it." 

 

"Well, just don't tell Mikey that, he'll never let it go." He lied beside her, craving to intertwine his fingers with the space in between her's. 

 

"Donnie?"

 

"Yeah April?"

 

"Are you worried about the Purple Dragons?"

 

Donatello blankly stared straight ahead, digesting the question and dissecting his debris of emotions. It was all just another tangled mess he didn't want to uproot. He pressed the pillow against his chest.

 

"I mean, I guess they're a little threatening, but Leo says the police are all over it." He sat back up, removing the backpack from his back, "Anyway, let's get to Trigonometry, shall we?" 

 

"You're right," April clapped as to dismiss the previous conversation. As soon as she grabbed her textbook off of her desk, she returned to the bed and lied on her stomach, book opened and displayed in front of her, diving into her studies.

 

"It's funny," Donnie pulled out a pencil from his backpack, "You're allegedly some strong psychic, and yet you're failing trigonometry." 

 

Without hesitation, April stole the pillow from Donnie, smacking him in the face. "Shut up," she smirked, enjoying his playful teasing. 

 

Before Donnie could dish out another quip, there was a knock on the bedroom door. 

 

"Who's in there with you, April?" it asked, "It better not be that Jones boy." 

 

Casey Jones: the boyfriend. Donnie, his brothers, and April had met Raphael's arrogant and flirtatious friend back in junior high, but it was only a few months ago that April had admitted to growing feelings for the guy. The two were a dynamic duo when it came to their romantic relationship, frictional personalities that just happened to create sparks. Sparks that Donnie just couldn't ever seem to ignite himself. Perhaps he just wasn't pressing hard enough, not moving passed shyness to get close enough for their souls to touch. Jealousy was his adversary, but Donatello managed to push his own personal feelings and keep them at bay. Whatever made April happy, he would remind himself. Still, each syllable of the boy's name made his gut clench, his blood boil, and his heart sink. 

 

Laughing, April rolled off the bed and made her way to the door. "Don't worry dad, it's just Donnie." 

 

 _Just Donnie_ —the phrase was like a hammer to his ribs, bones aching as his heart jumped into his throat.

 

Kirby O'Neil entered the room, hands in his pocket as he nodded towards Donatello. At least that was something Casey didn't have—full approval and trust from April's father. 

 

"Hey Mr. O'Neil," he waved casually but with courtesy, "Just here to help April with Trigonometry." 

 

"Like he does every Tuesday afternoon," April placed her hands on her hips, "How come you always seem to forget that?" she teased, her father playfully rolling his eyes. 

 

"My mistake. I've just been a bit scatterbrained with all the new clients I've been having to keep up with," Kirby said, eyes wandering the room as if to make sure that Casey wasn't hiding anywhere. And suddenly, Mr. O'Neil's eyes locked with Donnie's. "You know," he told him, "It's a really kind thing for you to be helping April out like this. With everything that goes on within your life, I'm surprised you even find time for it. Are you sure you don't want a little reward for it?" 

 

Donnie rose to his feet and shook his head, "No need to waste any of your money on me, I enjoy doing it for free." 

 

Money was tempting, seeming that it was necessity that his family was lacking these days. But getting money for aiding a friend didn't fit comfortably with him. 

 

"I understand," April's dad said, clapping a hand to Donnie's shoulder and adding earnestly, "You're a good kid. Your father would be proud of you." 

 

Empty words fell flat to his ears, but Donatello plastered on a saccharin smile anyway. "Thanks," he looked up at him, Kirby ruffling his hair before leaving the room. 

 

"Well now that that interruption is gone," April grabbed her text book off the bed, "maybe you can tell me who this Ptolemy guy is."

 

As the two began their study, Donatello couldn't help but feel like a lightweight, his heart tied down by April so that he couldn't float away. There was no denying that he had feelings for April beyond platonically—it was simple chemistry. He would be anything for her, even if that meant being stuck as just the ‘genius’, just the Tuesday tutor, just her orphaned friend. He loved her. And April O'Neil would always be something he was proud and open about. 

 

 

XXX

 

 

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

 

Raphael distanced himself, the stance of folding his arms making the leather of his jacket pinch. Pressing his back against the bricks, amber eyes flicked back and forth from the aluminum cans as they were being struck, watching as they collided with the garage door at lightning speed. Fingers wrapped around the guitar strap against his chest.

 

Intuition made Raph cautious, staying near the mouth if the alleyway and waiting for the right time to approach the young man committing the minor crime of destruction of property. Inquisitive if he would ever realize he was there, the rugged teen blew the hair out of his eye.

 

_Bang!_

 

A cold wind snaked down is spine, subliminally reminding him of how chapped his lips were. Licking them, he glossed over and sensed the metallic taste of his piercing.

 

It was that motion that made Raph notice how his friend’s lips were merely a tight line, as if it was taking every piece of him to keep in control.

 

The bemusement lost its touch, Raphael squinting and focusing on the features of his friend. Beads of sweat rolled off the bridge of his nose, his long black hair sticking to his face and contrasting from his reddened cheeks. There went another hit.

 

_Bang!_

 

Grunts came from the young man, Raphael observing him as he perpetually pummeled crushed soda and beer cans with his hockey stick like homemade pucks. He went down the line, swinging at each until there was none left.

 

Lividness had its hold on him, leaving Raph to wonder what force could possibly have the power to consume his friend like that.

 

Disturbingly, it was almost as if Raphael was staring into a mirror. Anger was a cloak he wore daily, latching onto him and fusing into his identity. To see it being worn by someone else just didn’t look right. He couldn’t pull it off. It looked ugly on him.

 

A prolonged moan suddenly creaked from the backdoor of the shop, a younger girl emerging from the dusty doorway with a stuffed bunny in her hands. Dark-colored, messy braids framed her youthful face, highlighting her tomboyish charm despite the plush bunny she would often carry.

 

She took one look at the teen and loured.

 

“Casey, dad says to knock that off, it’s highly obnoxious,” she clutched the animal tighter, her nose haughtily in the air to create some sense of superiority for herself.

 

Raph sniggered from where he was, almost always being entertained by this spunky girl.

 

But she was blatantly ignored, Casey Jones scouring for any other item to smash into the garage door. It was almost sad to see Casey seemingly implacable and so desperate as he searched for something to destroy.

 

“What are you even doing?” the little girl marched up to him, fearless to say the least.

 

Casey only blinked at her, eyes darting from her to the toy. She didn’t have time to register the thoughts written on Casey’s face before he smacked the bunny right out of her hands, the plush landing on the asphalt.

 

Raph sneered, but still didn’t move. He wanted to see this play out.

 

The child gasped in surprise, but it didn’t take long for her facial expression to harden. “If you dare hit Cotton Tail—”

 

And just like that, the childhood stuffed animal flew and crashed into the garage door, Casey insensate to the coexisting emotions that were obviously floating in the air.

 

Infuriating disturbance tensed inside Raphael.

 

“What’s your problem Jones?” Raph blew his cover, striding over to his distraught friend. Casey whipped around, eyes wide to say how long have you been standing thete?. His little sister didn’t seem too stunned, smirking at Raphael to hint that she was actually glad to see him.

 

As Casey only answered with ragged breathing, Raph plodded over to the girl’s plush rabbit and dusted it off.

 

Handing it over to Casey’s sister, she snatched it and brought it close to her chest, smiling curtly and hiding a subtle blush.

 

“I’ll take care of this,” Raph nodded toward Casey.

 

“Good,” she headed back inside the shop. Before shutting the backdoor, she added, “Kick his ass for me.”

 

Raphael threw his head back, a quick raspy chortle parting from his lips as his gaze attached to the pale sky.

 

“She sure has a chockful of personality, doesn’t she?”

 

A _pfft_ from his friend was heard from over his shoulder. Gripping his guitar strap tighter, the teenager stood tall and lumbered over to Casey Jones.

 

Embarrassment attempted to diminish itself, but Raph could plainly detect the avoidance in eye contact and the red tint to Jones’s cheeks. Shifting his weight, Raph flipped his hair out of his eye and smirked. “You know, I thought your cycle was next week.”

 

That ought to stir a reaction from his troubled friend.

 

Casey chucked his hockey stick onto the pavement in defeat, rolling his coffee-colored eyes before finally spitting out, “Channel six.”

 

Channel six. That’s all Raph needed to hear to understand, but he allowed his friend to continue to vent.

 

“They’re back—how dare they have the nerve to come back to my city. I made it pretty clear last time that they were unwelcome.”

 

Raph scoffed. “You really think you intimidated the Purple Dragons? Listen, I hate them as much as the next guy, but getting wrapped up in their business again won’t fix the problem.”

 

“You don’t understand,” Casey shook his head, “This is personal Raph—they got wrapped in my life first.”

 

“I know Casey, you don’t need to retell me your sob story—”

 

“They messed with my parents, harassed them when we were barely making it by. It didn’t just take a toll on the shop, it took a toll on my parents’ marriage,” the grieved boy bit his lip to hold back his spilling emotions, “It’s been years since I’ve even contacted my mom. And that’s not even all of it. You know what they did simply because my dad didn’t pay his ‘protection fee’?”

 

Raph’s sigh was sympathetic. “The Purple Dragons burned—”

 

“They burned the shop down. Those bastards burned our store to the ground, and now they’re back and still trying to ruin people’s lives.” The flare in his eyes must’ve burned brighter and with more pain and hatred than the store fire that occurred many years ago. But Raph hosed off his own conflicting feelings—for once, he followed logic rather than jumping the gun with impulse.

 

He walked up to his friend, entering a new territory in empathy that made him uncomfortable. “Case, look, all of that happened a long time ago,” he told him, locking his fiery eyes with his own ice cold glare, “Going back to your old vigilante days will only result in you getting your ass kicked and me having to worry that your stupidity will catch up to you.”

 

Casey tore away from the polar stare, glancing upward to avoid eye contact and tapping his foot with impatience.

 

“I can’t just do nothing,” the familiar phrase seethed through Casey’s teeth.

 

Voices of last night rolled in from last night, the dramatic scene from Michelangelo seeming to unfold itself right in front of Raphael for a second time.

 

“Geez, you’re sounding like Mikey. I’ll tell you what I told him—this is not your job. Leo said the police are on it.”

 

“Police?” Casey gestured for emphasis, “The Raph I know, knows that they don’t do shit.”

 

There was a pause. He wasn’t wrong—the two always shared that belief. But Raph swallowed his temptations.

Slowly shedding his usual cloak of anger, Raphael allowed himself to be stripped of what he was content and labeled with. The exposure alone was enough to rattle his bones.

 

Being vulnerable, the brusque teen admitted, “I don’t want to have to find out one day that you got yourself killed because you got yourself in too deep.”

 

Mushy confessions tended to leave Casey Jones feeling awkward as well, subduing him to silence.

 

The boys stood in the lot for a while, Raph trying to think of ways to push this subject far, far away.

 

“How about instead of throwing this hissy fit over these stupid Purple Dragons, we focus on our attention to something else. Say, our music?” Raph motioned to the guitar strapped to his back, “We still need a lead singer.”

 

Again, no words for a sustained amount of time. Until a playful smirk tugged lightly at the corner of Casey’s lips.

 

“Why can’t I sing?”

 

“Because you sound like a cat in a garbage disposal.”

 

“Ok, fine. We can have auditions or something—but I want to pick our band name,” Casey said, walking towards the backdoor of the shop and expecting Raph to follow.

 

“Sure, as long as you promise to not go back to your vigilante ways.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I promise. How about the Cotton Tails? It’s totally metal.”

 

“Over my dead body.”

 

 

XXX

 

Clattering dishes and thrumming conversations were enough to indicate the liveliness in the small restaurant, though an afternoon rush on a Tuesday was a rare occurrence for Mr. Murakami. Michelangelo’s thoughts, however, might have been more bustling than 24/7.

 

With the recent events and exchange of dialogue hanging above him, words and emotions restlessly ricocheted in his skull.

_Dad would’ve wanted us to do this._

 

The acidity that excreted from his voice made him physically wince with regret. It wasn’t like him to go on a heated spiel like that. Maybe rants about Crognard the Barbarian, or cats, but not ones about epic destinies and assumptions about their deceased father. Forks screeched against ceramic plates.

 

Mikey blinked hard, attempting to widen his heavy eyes as he scrolled through social media on his phone idly. Leisure after-school times were moments he’d prefer to stay awake for. The padding from the seat stuck to his legs, Napoleon on the left of him chatting to Jason from across the table. This secluded him into slumbering silence, leaving him to continue recycling last night’s thoughts in his head.

 

 _Someone is going to save Peter, right? The police will find out where he is—they have to. Why was he kidnapped in the first place?_ Questions rumbled and quaked in his mind, making it ache. It was just something he couldn’t diminish, something he couldn’t keep still. There had to be something he could do to stop this pain and keep it from spreading.

 

_If you do not enter the tiger’s cave, you will not catch its cub._

The phrase entered his battlefield of thoughts, getting caught in crossfire. This strong, overwhelming desire to fight back was nipping under his skin, almost as if it were going to burst right out of him.  It was clear that this intense force of sentiment was unfamiliar and new to him—he never felt more compelled to do something so impactful his whole life. And it was scary. Confusing, but also transcendently exhilarating.

 

“So, which issue are we on now?” Napoleon rested his leg on the seat, his shoe almost touching Mikey as he leaned back on the wall.

 

He couldn’t shake out of his daze fast enough before Jason could answer for him.

 

“Number one spring issue,” Jason waved his own comic for visual confirmation.

 

His friends had unintentionally forced him to acknowledge his world around him, to live in the present moment at _24/7_ than to wherever Peter was. All his senses lazily kicked in, the restaurant sounds became more prominent as he remembered why they were here. It was their weekly comic book meet up, and as soon as he remembered that, he realized Renet had yet to make an appearance.

 

And just as if Mikey had closed his eyes and made a wish, the familiar voice stood out against all others.

 

“Hey guys, guess what!”

 

The boy swiftly lifted his head up to see Renet, her floral print skirt swaying with each step she took towards the booth. The bedazzlement that sparkled in her eyes prompted hope to shine its rays over the horizon. Mikey pressed his hands against the polished table and hefted himself up, transforming his attitude completely.

 

“Did someone find Pigeon Pete?!” he inquired with confidence, his smile stretching for miles.

 

The hope that he thought he saw slipped away and no longer shone, but was instead replaced with dull guilt.

 

“Oh, no,” Renet fiddled with the pendant around her neck, “I was just going to say my dad got me a pocket watch, sorry.” She smiled sadly as she opened her palms to reveal the gift she had received. It was golden, unlike his luck.

 

Mikey slumped his shoulders, allowing himself to fall back into place as he pouted. He should’ve known. The energy he had exerted was depleted, his lost hours now doing a number on him.

 

“You’re still hung up over that?” Jason asked as he moved his backpack so Renet could sit down.

 

She slid next to him only to scold, “It’s only been one day Jason, give it time.”

 

Eyes crestfallen, the troubled boy reexamined his phone screen, scrolling through smiling faces and wondering how these people could carry on after everything that was revealed on Monday.

 

“Do you think making a hashtag would help spread the news faster? I’ve seen people do that with other missing people,” he said, almost completely monotone.

 

“I mean, it wouldn’t hurt,” he heard Jason say, but hadn’t had the strength or motivation to lift his heavy eyes.

 

“I guess that’s one nice thing about being a social butterfly and having a lot of followers.”

 

Mikey watched the light of the phone screen turn black.

 

“Now that Renet’s here, can we order?” Though spoken as a question, Napoleon already made up his mind and squeezed passed him out of the booth.

 

Mentioning food made Mikey realize his own hunger pains. Renet and Jason had followed his lead, Mikey sulking behind them begrudgingly in a juvenile way.

After acquiring their wooden coins, the four friends shuffled over to the polished counter, clambering onto the stools and sliding the tokens to Mr. Murakami himself.   

“Hey Mr. Murakami-san,” Mikey greeted, attempting to make his voice sound sunnier than the rain cloud that dampened his mood. 

 

Mr. Murakami was another one of the multitude of friends that he had made through the connection with his father. Yoshi used to bring him and his brothers to _24/7_ when they were younger, Mikey absolutely astonished by the chef's culinary skills, given also that the man was blind. Murakami had even trained him to make some of his favorite orders when he was only nine years old—something that really cheered him up after everything he had recently gone through. 

 

So, Murakami became another person to make it on his list of inspiring role models. 

 

Said man grinned at the sound of his voice, recognition blatant in his posture. 

 

“Hello Michelangelo, hello Michelangelo's friends,” he offered a friendly wave, collecting the wooden tokens for their orders. Feeling the grooves under his fingertips, the man read the surface of the coins. 

 

“Pizza gyoza, why am I not surprised?” The man headed towards his kitchen, adding over his shoulder, “You kids can't stay out too late; there's a new curfew, you know.”

 

Mikey perked up at the remark, turning his stool to face his three other friends with a look of aggravation. “And you know why there's a curfew? Because people like Pigeon Pete have gone missing!”  

 

“Can't you just think about something else, for like, five minutes?” Jason complained with a roll of his eyes, “Like comics or pizza or even that creepy gothic chick you seem to like so much.”

 

Michelangelo cocked his head. “You mean Shinigami?”

 

“Jason,” Renet interjected, placing on hand on Jason's shoulder and the other outstretched towards Mikey, “ _Obviously_ Mikey isn't going to leave this whole conspiracy alone, so we might as well just let him get it off his chest.” She smiled at Mikey, sitting upright and waiting for him to proceed with what he had been trying to get out the moment he arrived. 

 

Finally, he could release his dark realizations, something he hated keeping to himself and battling over. Mikey let out a well-needed deep breath.

 

“Look dudes, I _know_ something happened to Pete!” he started, emphasizing with exaggerated hand gestures, “I know because—because the Purple Dragons took him!” 

 

Jason and Napoleon raised their eyebrows, Renet toying with her pocket watch in stunned silence.  

 

“The Purple Dragons?” Napoleon spoke up, sounding unconvinced, “What would guys like them want with a guy like Pigeon Pete?” 

 

“I don't know! But I just know that they did, and Peter wasn't the only one,” Mikey answered desperately, “And I have to stop them.”

 

Napoleon, Jason, and Renet all traded side glances, but Michelangelo cut them off before they could reply. 

 

“Ugh, quit doing that,” he groaned, “Quit doing the ‘Mikey is out of his Mind’ look. My brothers already did enough of that last night. They don't believe me either.”

 

Renet gave Mikey her attention, concern painting her face as the young boy failed at stifling a yawn. 

 

“It's not that we don't believe you,” she began, “It's just that we're worried you're a little too invested into this. There's nothing we can do but hope for the best.”

 

“The worry card,” the boy rested his cheek in the palm of his hand, “Leo pulled that on me too. He even put weird incense in my room to help me fall asleep last night.”

 

“Did it work?” Napoleon asked with an odd amount of curiosity. 

 

“Do you see these eye bags?!” Mikey pulled down his face dramatically. A sigh parted from his lips, "I just can't help but feel like I should be doing something. My brothers won't let me help, but I can't stand being on the sidelines." Discouraged, he folded his arms on the counter and rested his chin. 

 

A delayed response was expected—Mikey didn't usually behave like this. Positive vibes and warm optimism was the persona he constantly wore. The last time he was this hung up over a serious topic was when he had lost his father. 

 

The tired boy closed his eyes, but before he could even get the chance to doze off, Napoleon's voice startled him. 

 

“It's too bad,” he said, turning the pages of his comic book, looking more engrossed in what he was reading than what he was saying, “It's too bad _you_ aren't a superhero like Wingnut. You could have a cool costume and everything, no one would know it's you.” 

 

Mikey jolted up, inspiration zapping his body and soul back to life. 

 

“ _Kokestu ni irazunba koji wo ezu_!” he suddenly exclaimed. 

 

Napoleon lifted his gaze away from his comic book, eyes squinted in confusion, “What?”

 

“I can become a superhero like Wingnut—or even better,” Mikey motioned his friends to lean in closer as he whispered, “A vigilante like the Nightwatcher!”

 

The boys' eyes glinted at the concept Mikey was suggesting, Renet leaning back away. 

 

“The Nightwatcher?” Renet appeared uncertain.

 

Jason swerved his seat towards her. “You know, the Nightwatcher?”  he repeated the name in hopes that it would jog her memory. But she shrugged, clueless. 

 

“He was a popular vigilante a few years ago back when last time Purple Dragons were being evil-y,” Mikey explained excitedly, “After he got super famous, other people started taking on the role too. And the coolest part is that nobody ever found out who was the original Nightwatcher.”

 

The Nightwatcher had also made his appearance on Mikey's list of role models when he was a kid, believing he was almost like Manhattan's personal Wingnut. 

 

 **“** Are you serious?” Jason scoffed, “Dude, those gang members would take you down before you could even blink.” 

 

“That's where you're wrong!” Mikey pointed at Jason, then taking his thumb and pointing towards himself, “Did you suddenly forget about my amazing ninjutsu skills? If I just finished my training and became a real ninja, then I can go out and save people from being kidnapped by the Purple Dragons! And the best part would be that my brothers would never have to find out.” He folded his arms, proud of his plan. 

 

 “But wouldn't they notice you gone?” Jason challenged. 

 

“Look, I'll work out the kinks later—but this is something I was born to do guys! I can feel it!”

 

“Well, I for one think it's an awesome plan,” Napoleon voiced. 

 

“Thank you! Finally, someone is on my side! Jason, Renet?”

 

Jason thought for at least a moment before a boyish smile fell through, “If you train and graduate to a full ninja, then I guess it'd be pretty rad.” 

 

Mikey beamed, leaning forward to see Renet down the counter. “Renet?”

 

The young girl looked away, “I don't know Mikey...”

 

“C'mon 'Net, pleeease?” he folded his hands together, batting his big blue eyes. 

 

Renet gently glimpsed at him, biting her lip. Caving in, she sighed in defeat—Mikey was aware that no one could resist his cute charm. “I guess if you _really_ feel like you were meant to do this—”

 

Mikey pumped his fist, his elatedness escalating to new heights.

 

“Then it's settled! Starting right now, Michelangelo Hamato will begin his training to become a ninjutsu-fighting-vigilante-hero of New York!”

 

 The war in his mind had ceased, victorious celebrating chiming as he began to create his second identity. 

 

XXX

 

**Preview for _Chapter 3: Searching for Guidance_!**

 

_The girl closed her eyes, fingers lightly lacing the microphone as she allowed to get lost in the music._

 

_A lie. I just told a lie, the words flashed like sirens in his mind._

 

_Leo scrunched his nose. He couldn't have possibly forgotten to hand him and Usagi an assignment, could he?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SFPFLKP LO KFDEQJXOBP,  
> QEB CRQROB FP PLJBQEFKD QEXQ ZXK KBSBO YB MOBMXOBA.


	4. Serching for Guidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music can serve as a guide for troubled minds, and a sensei can serve as a guide for broken spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I said I would post two chapters in a row, I'm kind of in a depressive state. I'll post Chapter 4 after posting this though.
> 
> Also, congratulations to Geni+Blaze for figuring out the code for chapter 2. May blessings come your way.

**_Chapter 3: Searching for Guidance_ **

 

Music is most often portrayed as a form of self-expression, a way to bridge and connect to other human souls through simple rhythms and poetic stitching of words. This definition was no exception for Raphael, as creating and arranging certain vibrations and sounds channeled his explosive energy into something less destructive. It was his cliché version of therapy, something father supported since way back in his youth.

 

Somewhere along his rocky road of a childhood. 

 

There was an indescribable experience when feeling the guitar strings under his fingertips, the reverberating notes and chords coursing through his entire body and circuiting through his bones. Raph had been playing the guitar for a handful of years now, but it had only become a crucial portion of his life when he met Casey Jones in the seventh grade. 

 

At first, Jones was beyond aggravating to Raph, the cocky, stubborn, class clown that everyone could do without. Turns out he still was that five years later, except now Raph definitely could not do without. Forming a bond over their mutual love for destruction and justice, the two eventually clicked and became inseparable friends. Crime-fighting such as beating school bullies, however, escalated when it transitioned into pounding Purple Dragon gang members. Higher risks. Deeper consequences. 

 

Luckily, Raph had managed to convince Casey to focus his determination on their common interest in music rather than wagering and looking for trouble. 

 

The two currently occupied the lonely garage of the shop, Raph gently strumming and spinning in a swivel chair while Casey blew the dark hair that fell in his eyes with impatience.

 

The auto shop was never just an auto shop for Raph and Casey, but in matter of fact, a diverse, multipurpose area. Ever since middle school, the garage was an escape from school and parents, or a place to work out, or more often than not, a practice room for their band. Countless sleepovers were recalled to take place upon the loft up the stairs, but even more memories were simply of him laughing with his best friend. 

 

With a rusty-orange atmosphere, the garage tended to create a warming sense of innocent security for Raphael. Visiting the setting had become ritual for about a couple months now. 

 

“How long has it been?" Casey groaned, his drum throne squeaking underneath him. Raph pulled his cellphone from his pocket, lighting up the screen.

 

“Almost two hours,” he aimed to answer in an upbeat way, but missed the mark. 

 

“Dude, no one is coming.”

 

“Hey, you don't know that. I put audition flyers around the whole school, someone's bound to show up.” 

 

Casey raised an eyebrow with skepticism. “Why have you been so overly optimistic lately? It's starting to creep me out.”

 

“I don't know. Why are you acting so uncharacteristically pessimistic?” Raph asserted playfully. Casey only shrugged in response, almost as if bewildered by the realization himself.

 

“I guess when one of us acts like that,” Raph smirked, gesturing to Casey before gesturing to himself, “The other acts like this.”

 

Suddenly, footsteps from outside snatched the boys' attention. Raph ceased spinning in his seat, toes touching concrete as he then stood tall. Gripping his guitar tighter out of instinct, the teenager leaned closer towards the mouth of the garage. Each mysterious step a crescendo as it came closer towards them in the garage, making his heart pound harder with anticipation. Excitement expanded in his chest like a balloon, a smile just waiting to blossom, but still he held back. 

 

“Hey guys!”

 

And the balloon popped. The recognizable voice echoed off the walls of the empty auto shop, bouncing off of Raph and filling him up with frustration. 

 

“Mikey, what the hell are you doing here?”

 

With a skateboard in one hand and an ukulele in the other, a vainglorious smile spread across Michelangelo's freckled face. The pompoms dangling from his beanie swayed from the previous movement as he puffed up with confidence. “Because,” he told Raph, walking inside and setting his skateboard down before reaching under his beanie and pulling out a paper, “This flyer at school said you needed a new band member, and I came here to deliver.” 

 

Casey scowled, looking over to Raph with his eyebrows upturned and pinched with doubt and distress. 

 

Mikey was ignorant to Casey's facial expression and social cues, adjusting the ukulele in the crook of his arm before beginning to play without hesitation. 

 

Soft, delicate music gracefully surrounded the garage. A sound that would bring euphony to most, but certainly not to Raphael. 

 

“Mikey,” Raph shouted over the picking of strings, “We aren't looking for an ukulele player, we need a lead vocalist.”

 

The little brother proceeded to open his mouth, but before a melody could even be sung, he cut him off again. 

 

“We don't want runts in our band, capeesh?” 

 

Mikey pouted, clutching his ukulele and blowing a raspberry before going over to search for a vacant chair to sit on. 

 

Raph curmudgeonly wished his brother could be anywhere else but here with him. 

 

“Where are your little friends?” Raph asked as Mikey discovered a folding chair, “Shouldn't you be hanging out with them?”

 

Setting himself down, Mikey subconsciously plucked the strings of his ukulele as he thought. “Well, Napoleon was studying, Jason went to the dentist, aaand Renet has family night.”

 

Raph pinched the bridge of his nose, “Then why couldn't you have just stayed home and hung out with Donnie instead of coming to annoy us?”

 

The small wooden ukulele now rested silently on Mikey's lap. A brief pause. “Y'know D's not very much of a conversationalist these days.”  Blonde bangs swept in front of the round, blue eyes that blinked up at him. 

 

Raphael sighed deeply, almost to where it felt like it rattled in his lungs. The sad statement was known to be a true one. 

 

“Also,” Mikey continued, “Leo told me to go out and get my mind off of Peter. He thinks I'm thinking about it way too much.”

 

_Two guilt trips in a row, huh?_

 

Sympathy angrily ate away at him. “Ok, fine.”

 

“Who's Pete—”

 

“Don't even bother asking, Casey.”

 

“Besides, Casey's my friend too.” Mikey swung his backpack off his shoulder, joy returning to his attitude once more. “Hey Case, I brought the number one spring issue of Wignut and Screwloose,” he coaxed as he took out the new comic book. 

 

Enthusiasm sparked in Casey's eyes, silently gasping and marveling at the stapled pieces of paper. “Sweet!” Casey exclaimed, quickly grabbing the comic and rapidly flipping through the pages. 

 

Raph rolled his eyes at the immaturity of his friend, but once again, a sound snagged his focus and tugged him backward. Naturally, he craned his neck towards the noise, his long dark hair fell in front of his face. 

 

Purring of a motorcycle rumbled nearby, causing Casey and Mikey to stand and straighten up. Gradually roaring louder, it was evident that the vehicle was heading towards their location. Raph grasped his guitar once more, curiosity bundling inside him as he decided to check out who was arriving. 

 

Shambling over, Raphael peered outside, Casey following behind him, and Mikey most likely behind Casey. 

 

Just then, the motorcycle turned into the alleyway, its rider decelerating to a halt. 

 

Chunks of gravel jarred against asphalt, the revivifying scent of gasoline making his nostrils flare. Raph glanced over his shoulder to see Mikey covering his ears, being that he wasn't used to the loud volume the motorcycle produced. But Raph had grown accustomed to it, growing up around the crowd he had. And yet, it was clear that he had never seen this character around. 

 

It was a tall slender figure, their back towards the three of them and identity still hidden. Adorned with a leather jacket, gloved hands reached for the top of their bike helmet, carefully removing it from their head. 

 

A mane of hair was exposed, curly coils splaying in all directions as they shook their head with liberation. And that was when they ultimately turned around, Raph seeing their face for the first time. 

 

There was something about her hazel eyes —something that made Raphael feel as if the sun had just come out from behind dark clouds. Angels almost appeared to chorus, the cheesy scene in all movies seeming to play right before him. The teen couldn't help but be bewitched and drawn to the beautiful stranger, and although her eyes glowed like fiery suns, he couldn't help but notice how chilled and moonstruck he really was. 

 

With her light eyes contrasting against her dark smooth skin, a pink bandana was loosely tied around her neck, her crop top revealing her midriff as she sauntered over his way.

 

“I assume you two are Raphael Hamato and Casey Jones?” 

 

Smoothness coated every syllable, making Raph's knees go weak and his mind draw blank. 

 

Fortunately, Casey swooped in. “Yup, that's us. And I assume you're here to audition for our band?” the boy said with childlike hope. 

 

She flashed a smile, “Yeah—what is your band called, anyway?” 

 

Nervously pushing the hair out of his eye, Raph eventually managed to expel the lump in his throat. “Well, uh, we're a bit undecided. Casey usually changes it every day.”

 

A soft laugh made Raph's face feel warm. 

 

“Well, let's get this party started yo!” Mikey didn't waste any time to run up, take the girl by the hand, and drag her into the garage. Raph blinked, trying to catch up to speed on what exactly was happening. 

 

Casey then clapped a hand on his shoulder, making him stumble a bit, “C'mon dude, let's see if she has what it takes to hang with us.” 

 

That was enough for Raph to get ahold of his senses. Picking up the pace, he and Casey reentered the auto garage, Mikey handing her the microphone from the stand. 

 

“Mike, leave her alone,” Raph snapped, desperate for Mikey to just go away. But the young girl only giggled at the antics. 

 

“So, how does this audition work?” she asked, appearing cool, calm, and collected. 

 

“Well,” Casey began to explain, heading towards his drum set, “We're gonna play a song we wrote, and you just have to jump in whenever you can.” The rowdy teen then reached into his back pocket, taking out what looked like trash. 

 

“Here are the lyrics,” Casey handed her the scrap. Being irresolute, she eventually took it gingerly. 

 

“You scrawled the lyrics on a napkin?” she crinkled her nose with confusion.

 

Raph face-palmed, embarrassment coloring his cheeks. 

 

“Yeah, wrote them on the way here,” Casey said with no hint of shame.

 

“Let's just start already,” Raph interjected, trying to eliminate anymore humiliation that could be caused by either Casey or Mikey. 

 

Hearing the crackle after plugging in his guitar into the amp, Raph nodded to Casey before returning his concentration back to the girl. She read the pen marks on the napkin, eyes shifting from lyric to lyric as an obvious attempt to memorize. 

 

Raising his sticks, Casey banged them together over his head. 

 

“One, two, three, four!” 

 

There was no need for Raph to stare at his guitar—he could play the song in his sleep. This freed mental space so that he could now immerse himself with the cryptic singer. 

 

Counting beats by bouncing her leg, it was evident how diligent she was. Experience was present simply in her posture and levelheadedness. Inching closer to the microphone, she opened her mouth. 

 

Melodies entangled him, smothering him and making him forget how to breathe. Like a siren in the ocean, her voice lured his interest even more than before, waves crashing in all around him. Gentle and relaxing like a summer breeze, yet holding back a powerful storm. 

 

Lifting his feet to move over to her felt like wading through sand, legs weak and feet heavy, but it didn't stop him nevertheless. 

She had even possessed the ability to transform Jones's failed attempt at song lyrics to sound like heavenly poetry—something Raph didn't think could be possible. Neither did he think it was possible for him to feel this way from singing, especially from someone he had never seen or heard before. 

 

The girl closed her eyes, fingers lightly lacing the microphone as she allowed to get lost in the music. As Raph continued to stare, he found himself lost as well. 

 

But suddenly, Raph's hand slipped, causing him mess up the chord and to lose track of where he was in the song. The girl opened her eyes to give Raph a look of concern. Pulling himself together, Raph stood stiff.

 

“That's enough Case, we don't need to hear anymore.”

 

Casey squinted suspiciously at him, but shrugged anyway. 

 

“You were pretty good,” Casey got on his two feet, “But my partner and I will have to talk this over.”

 

Obeying Casey's gesture for him to speak to him privately, Raph, Casey, and Mikey all huddled together a few feet away from their audition participant. 

 

“Is this really necessary? She was the only person to show up—”

 

“I call this band meeting to order,” Casey whispered, checking to see if the stranger was eavesdropping. 

 

Rolling his eyes, Raph whispered back, “Look, she was perfect. Perfect timing, didn't make my ears bleed like you do, and the fact that she is literally the only other person in this room besides us.” 

 

Casey was silent for a second before leaning in closer, “But does she, you know, look the part?”

 

“I let you be in this band, didn't I?”

 

“Oh, snap! Burn!” Mikey said a little too loudly. “And even though I'm technically not in this band,” the youngest continued, “She has my vote, ten out of ten!”

 

“For once, I actually agree with Mikey,” Raph folded his arms, “It's decided, ok? She deserves to be in.”

 

Casey pondered for a moment. “Hmm, I guess so.” 

 

“Aw yeah!” Mikey grinned, charging over to the newest band member with starry eyes. “Great news, you're going to Hollywood! Or, at least you're in the band.”

 

Tailing after Mikey, Raph rubbed the back of his neck, trying his best not to smile at the look of delight on the singer's face. 

 

“I'm so glad I can be a part of this,” she said heartily, “Thank you.”

 

“Uh, no, thank _you_ ,” Raph avoided eye contact. 

 

“Practices are here on Tuesdays,” Casey stepped in, adding actual important information. 

 

“Alright, I should be going now. Goodbye Casey, goodbye Raphael.”

 

And just like that, the young girl headed outside. 

 

“This is great!” Raph exclaimed as he set down his guitar, “Raphael, Casey, and...” Realization struck him like a ton of bricks. 

 

“Dude, you did not just totally forget to ask what her name was,” Mikey teased. 

 

He could only glare at Mikey, anger being pushed to the side as he quickly went out to chase after his new band mate. 

 

“Wait, wait, wait!” Raph called out, catching her starting up her motorcycle. 

 

“What's your name?” 

 

With the helmet tucked under her arm, the girl simpered at him. 

 

“Mona.”

 

She gave a flirtatious wink before placing the helmet back on her head, kicking up pebbles as she exited the alleyway. 

 

Night had fallen silent once that motorcycle was out of earshot, an aching feeling of emptiness forming in the pit of his stomach. 

 

Footsteps behind him blared against the silence. 

 

“So, dude, what's her name?”

 

Raph bit his lip to keep his smile from getting any bigger. 

 

“Mona. Her name is Mona.”

 

XXX

 

_Click, click, click._

 

Yellow sunshine leaked from in between the blinds, pooling itself onto the sailboat-patterned comforter. He checked the time—7:38 a.m. . Pressing his pen repetitively, Mikey wrinkled his nose in concentration. He had to hurry if he wanted to catch Leo before his shift began. 

 

Peter Brood had disappeared more than a week ago, and there were still no signs of him or his captors. It was almost as if he was gradually being swept under the rug, gradually being erased from existence. But with pen and paper in hand, Mikey made a consolation that he would make sure that Pete's story would stay written. 

 

Michelangelo lied on his bed, feet kicking against the sailboat-wheel headboard as he reread the words he printed on the white page. It was almost finished, just needed last few touches and a pinch of Mikey-magic to tie the piece together. He had to be convincing, had to be smart and calculated on this approach if he wanted to get what he wanted out of Leonardo. 

 

To Mikey, it didn't seem like such a huge deal. In fact, it just seemed like it was a task his oldest brother _should_ do. 

 

But to Leo—Leo tended to blow things way out of proportion, at least as of late. Every single little detail that related to their father was too painful for him to bear. 

 

Biting the tip of the pen, the boy was impressed with the eloquence of the speech he had written, pleading to the spirits that it was persuasive enough to push Leo into becoming his stopgap sensei. 

 

Leonardo, Raphael, and Donatello had all managed to graduate to full ninja before he had. Due to lost time and misfortunes in his youth, Michelangelo had fallen way behind in his training. Father had promised to teach him until he had graduated. But destiny apparently had other plans. 

 

Shifting his weight caused the bed to creak as he sat up with his legs crossed, rereading his proposal for the fifth time that Saturday morning. Pigeon Pete and the others were depending on him. _New York_ was depending on him. And becoming a ninja was the first step. 

 

Inhaling a deep breath, he slid off the bed and felt the cold floor with his bare feet. It was wonderful to be back in his old skin, to be back into his hopeful, optimistic mindset. It was home—he hadn't even noticed he was homesick until then. Years of being away, years of being lost without even realizing. Everything would be smooth sailing from here on out. 

 

Script in hand, the youngest maneuvered through the jungle that was his bedroom, hopping on over to track down Leo before the Saturday really started. 

 

Fortunately, Leonardo hadn't departed for duty yet, sitting on the footstool and cramming cereal in his mouth. Dressed in uniform, his dark blue eyes were sharp and focused, but focused on something Mikey couldn't see. It was something that only Leo could, something encrypted solely in the inner workings of his mind; the invisible weight of the eldest's responsibilities caused his shoulders to sag and his whole spirit to be pinned to the floor. And even though his brother was near him, it was as plain as day that Leo was miles and miles away.  

 

Perhaps Leo's conspicuous aloofness could be used to his advantage. He could be too distracted with buzzing thoughts to really argue and turn down his request. Guilt made its guest appearance as strategies wired themselves for Mikey's plot. 

 

Paper crinkled under his fingers. 

 

“Morning Leo,” he said casually, as if he weren't standing there silently for thirty seconds. 

 

Spoon jangling against the ceramic bowl, Leo lifted his gaze towards him. “Hey Mikey,” he greeted tiredly, getting up to place his empty dish in the sink. 

 

Mikey cleared his throat, glancing down at his script before looking back up at him. 

 

“Leo, I've been thinking a lot about—”

 

“Don't forget to take your medicine this morning,” Leo cut off absentmindedly. 

 

Caught off guard by the interruption, Mikey squinted at his brother's distant behavior. _Why randomly bring that up?_

 

“Leo, don't worry, I never forget to take it. But I want to talk to you about something—”

 

“You almost forgot the night you found out about Pete. You wouldn't have taken it if I didn't remind you.”

 

“Leo,” Mikey impatiently dashed over behind the counter, going and tugging Leo's sleeve, “You're not listening to me!”

 

Michelangelo tried his best to put on a serious face, growing frustrated that his brother tended to not take him genuinely. 

 

Leo blinked a few times, eyes now wide as if he had just woken up. Turning off the faucet, the oldest then bent down to his level, devoting one-on-one eye contact. 

 

“Sorry, what is it?”

 

 _Now or never_. An opportunity like this may not come back for days. Mikey puffed out his cheeks, once again checking his paper to guide him on what to say. 

 

“I know you've been worried about me and how I'm dealing with Pete's kidnapping,” Mikey rocked back and forth on his heels nervously, “And you're right. It's totally killing my positive vibes and making me a total bummer. So, I've been thinking of things I can do to take my mind off of it.” The boy paused, trying to read Leonardo's face so far; it was untranslatable, facial expression like stone. He bit the inside of his cheeks as he mustered courage before continuing his pitch. 

 

“I miss the dojo,” he confessed, “I miss pursuing ninjutsu. You and Raph and Donnie all graduated to ninjas, but I never did. I think it really helped me deal with things when I was a kid, so maybe it could help me now.”

 

The emotion he displayed may have been an act at first, but staring into the starry eyes of his brother made his scripted words come alive, real pain beginning to seep through.

 

A soft, sympathetic sigh slipped between Leo's lips as Mikey watched him place a hand on his shoulder. That couldn't be a good sign. 

 

“I'm really sorry father never had the chance to graduate you to a full ninja, I really am.” 

 

Sorrow and discomfort pulled Mikey's eyes to the floor, his heart sinking like an anchor. 

 

Leo went on to add, “Things will balance out for us eventually. Life seems to have us in some, crazy whirlpool lately, huh? Throwing us in circles...” The same distant look reappeared, Leo going quiet before picking it back up. “But I promise the waters will calm and everything will level out. In the meantime, you don't need to hurt yourself by digging into the past. You don't need to worry about it.”

 

That was just like Leo—to carry all the burden on his own, telling others to not worry when he was doing just that. Maybe, Mikey thought, that Leo doing this would not only benefit and distract himself, but him as well. 

 

This would be a good thing, this would stitch the gaps in their family, fill all the missing pieces. A sense of normality was all they needed.

 

Hoisting his hopes, Mikey picked his eyes and heart off the floor. 

 

“But, maybe now _you_ can teach me!” he gave a toothy grin, trying his best to dial up his classic charm. “You could be my new sensei!” 

 

The room went stiff. Leo's grip on his shoulder was freed, Leo taken aback and face contorting almost as if he were insulted. 

 

“No.”

 

A lump formed in his throat at the stern rejection. Leo shooting down his ideas was common, but this dark tone wasn't. At least never directed at him. He wondered if he had done something wrong for him to not want him as a student. 

 

“Wha-what?” Mikey mentally kicked himself for sounding so weak. But Leo shook his head, walking towards the front door.

 

“I know what you're doing Mikey, I'm not stupid,” he said harshly, “I know you want to learn ninjutsu so you can go out and use the skills against Purple Dragons. I told you that you cannot get involved with them.”

 

 _He knows_ Mikey panicked inwardly. He should've known Leo was too keen. Or maybe he should've known he wasn't smart enough to trick his oldest brother. 

 

In this state of panic, the boy impulsively blurted out, "This has nothing to do with the Purple Dragons!"

 

 _A lie. I just told a lie,_ the words flashed like sirens in his mind. But he couldn't stop—the small lie that trickled out now opened the floodgate. 

 

“Being a ninja is part of who I am!” he kept at it, “I shouldn't have to give that up! Father would've wanted you to teach me! You were his top student, he would want you to be my sensei!”

 

He stamped his foot in frustration, narrowing his eyebrows as he tried his best to understand why Leo was acting like this. Swept with sudden emotion, Mikey held back salty tears that threatened to gush from the floodgate as well. But Leo swerved around, biting his lip as if to keep reckless words spilling over. 

 

“Michael, stop putting words in father's mouth,” he pointed an authoritative finger at him, “You don't know that that's what he would've said, alright? I'm not qualified to be your sensei.”

 

“Yes, you are! Father would totally—”

 

"Stop using him as a form of guilt trip! You think tagging the word ‘father’ after every request will make me do whatever you want? How would you know what he would say, you're nothing like him!" 

 

Goosebumps prickled his skin. The morning chorus of birds from outside was the indication of how silent it had become in the small apartment.

 

Mikey's waterworks welled up in his eyes, going and crossing his arms to avoid further humiliation. The boy refused to cry. 

 

He had got to learn to be less sensitive. 

 

But perhaps the lack of verbal response was what gave the sensitivity away. Mikey watched as Leo sighed in defeat, relaxed himself a bit, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 

“I'm not saying that you should completely give up a part of who you are,” Leonardo gently gripped the doorknob, but stood still, “Maybe after everything dies down with the gang violence, maybe then we can find someone to teach you.”

 

“But Leo—”

 

“Goodbye, Mike.”

 

The door opened, and the door closed. Not only had Leo left, but Mikey's opportunity. 

 

Michelangelo groaned loudly at his failure, grabbing his head and pulling at his blonde curls. Flopping onto the nearby couch, Mikey blinked the leftover tears, trying to rid of them as quickly as possible. 

 

Tears rolled off his cheeks as he gazed at the ceiling. Staring at it. It seeming to inch closer and closer and weigh on his chest. 

 

He couldn't give up, not now. Not only were Peter and all of New York depending on him, but he knew—he knew deep down in his heart—that his father was too. 

 

_Kokestu ni irazunba koji wo ezu._

 

 

XXX

 

His short fuse had been lit from the previous argument, explosive emotions such as frustration, hurt, and regret burning in his chest. 

 

_How would you know what he would say, you're nothing like him!_

 

Leonardo shook his head as if to get the words to quit ringing in his ears. He was aware that it was a bit brutal. He hadn't meant to drop such a destructive bomb, but wavering his father and using him as a weapon against him—he was sure that that was more painful. 

 

“Officer Sibley, continue your assignment on...” Chief Zeno's voice faded in and out of Leo's consciousness, too heated up for his own good. 

 

Usually, the briefing room was cold, still, and seemingly lifeless. But that morning, it felt as if the walls were caving in, and a raging fire surrounded him. 

 

He needed to shake it off, keep home life and work separate, forget about it, put the flames out even if it seemed impossible. 

 

Stares seared into his skin, Leo glancing over to see Usagi looking perturbed by his behavior. 

 

 _Are you ok?_ —Leo could tell that that was on the tip of Usagi's tongue. 

 

Inhaling a deep breath, the young rookie attempted to extinguish the anger inside him, exhaling the smoke that clouded his judgment and tainted his mood. 

 

“I'm fine,” he whispered to him, “Just a little disagreement between Mikey and I this morning. No big deal.”

 

“That is all, you're dismissed,” Zeno then called out, straightening papers at his podium. 

 

Leo scrunched his nose. He couldn't have possibly forgotten to hand him and Usagi an assignment, could he?

 

“Ch—”

 

“Oh, and Miyamoto, Hamato, please come and see me.” 

 

Leo shot a look to Usagi for answers, but his friend was just as clueless. If only he had had a map to guide him on Zeno's unpredictable behavioral patterns, maybe then the briefing session wouldn't be so stressful. 

 

Pushing himself out of his chair, Leo let Usagi lead him to the Chief this time. Things didn't work out so well the last time he approached the man on his own.  

 

Being escorted and now standing in front of the sizable podium made Leo feel as if he was in the principal's office, foolish tenseness drumming his nerves. He hadn't done anything wrong, but anxiety went to its memory files to double check. 

 

“Yes sir?” Usagi asked respectfully. 

 

The Chief scanned him and Usagi, eyes retreating to mysterious manila folders. He tapped his fingers. A heavy sigh. 

 

Finally, the man's rusty voice interrupted and broke through the awkward quietness. “Don't get too big of a head now, Hamato,” was the first thing he said, peering sharply behind the folders in his chapped hands. “But I think I've found a small window of opportunity for you and Miyamoto.”

 

The mental search for mistakes came to a sudden stop, Leo taking a few seconds to take in what Zeno just told him. 

 

“What do—”

 

“There's a case about low-grade thieves,” Chief Zeno slid the case folder to the two of them, “Robbing hospitals for morphine, Dilaudid, benzodiazepines. Just two sloppy, drug dealers desperate for their next fixes.”

 

Despite just hearing about a crime, happiness tempted Leo's lips to curve. 

 

“Detectives have already pinned down their patterns. The two of them are predicted to arrive at a designated time.” Chief Zeno gently opened to folder, revealing information on the case. “Because they don't have any correlation to the Purple Dragons and don't perceive to be too much of a threat, I'm entrusting you and Miyamoto to catch and arrest them.”

 

Keeping a straight face was now unavoidable, Leo smiling from ear to ear upon receiving an actual case. 

 

“If you're able to successfully arrest these men,” Zeno stared right into Leonardo's eyes, “I will highly consider giving you both an assignment involving the Purple Dragons. Am I clear?” 

 

Leo's drastic mood changes were starting to make him dizzy, but he nodded nevertheless. 

 

“Yes, loud and clear sir, we won't let you down—I won't let you down!”

 

His partner laughed lightly, anchoring Leo by placing a hand on his shoulder. Picking up the folder, Usagi headed towards the door. 

 

“C'mon rookie, we have a patrol car to inspect.” 

 

Leo quickly followed his FTO, practically beaming and unable to hide his young excitement. 

 

For once, he didn't mind being called a rookie. And for the first time in a while, he didn’t even think to stop to see Detective Kurtzman.

 

XXX

 

_Click, click, click._

 

“It's just not fair—why does Leo have to be so bossy? He's our older brother, but he's not like, the leader of us or anything.” 

 

Mikey typed on the keyboard with a single finger, still dealing with the aftermath of the disaster that took place that morning. He had retreated to his bedroom, and hadn't come out since. Raph and Donnie didn't seem to notice, or care for that matter. And for once, he didn't mind at all.

 

The boy sat crisscrossed on his bed, speaking to his cat for any sense of consolation and laptop resting on his legs. 

 

Donatello had given him one of his old laptops last year, one that fortunately still functioned correctly. Most of the time. 

 

“And what did he mean that I'm ‘nothing like dad’?” The boy puffed his cheeks, blowing a raspberry when he couldn't hold his breath any longer. “Leo's nothing like him either...Right, Klunk?” 

 

With a mighty leap, the orange fur ball landed on the bed next to him at the sound of her name, trotting over and rubbing her head against his arm. 

 

“At least you agree with me,” he smiled, bringing Klunk to his chest, kissing the top of her head before releasing her and going back to typing and suppressing his hurt feelings. 

 

Baby blue eyes glazed the screen, focusing intensely on the Google search bar. 

 

“Leo doesn't understand that there is no time to wait,” he continued to vent to his feline friend, “And if he won't help me, I guess I'll have to do this all on my own.”

 

Still staring at the search bar, his fingers glossed over the keys effortlessly, watching as each letter appeared. 

 

**_Ninjutsu dojos near me_ **

 

“Simple enough.” Mikey smiled, proud that he was actually putting his goal into action. For the first time in maybe his whole life, he didn't feel completely helpless and dependent. He wasn't going to let anything, or Leo, get in his way. 

 

Scrolling down, a short list of dojos just a few miles away had popped up. 

 

He was aware that he'd have to research pricing and session details, and all of them seemed to be promising, but there was one that he was unexplainably drawn to. 

 

“What do you think about this one Klunk?”

 

It was close, it seemed professional. 

 

He read the name aloud. 

 

“Bradford's Dojo—it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?” 

 

Michelangelo silently dragged the cursor.

 

_Click._

 

XXX

**Preview for _Chapter 4: Step Ahead_ !**

 

_“Nothing really—I just got an email from an unrecognizable address is all.”_

_“Mr. Bradford?”_

_The hand trailed down with the same pace and smoothness as rainwater trickling down glass. Leo watched intently. It stopped. And when it did, so did Leo’s heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QEB DLLA XOB KBSBO BXPV,  
> QEB BXPV KBSBO DLLA.


	5. Step Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some call it coincidence, some call it fate. Some believe they are in control of their surroundings, while some believe only the universe has the luxury.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying this story! Let me know your thoughts :)

**_Chapter 4: Step Ahead_ **

 

Alongside with petrichor, the musty and sweet scent of aging books was also a sensation that Donatello found calming. 

 

As paper would begin to grow old, the chemical compounds would begin to break down, and the complex polymer—lignin—would create the aroma that Donnie had grown addicted to. The combining smells of vanilla flowers and almonds, the smells that made his hunger for knowledge and answers even stronger. 

 

Libraries were similar to a sanctuary for Donnie, somewhere quiet and still. A place where he could be out of the house but shut out from the world all at the same time. 

 

The school library, however, definitely dampened the homely spirit of the public library. Avoiding the gum stuck underneath the wooden table, Donnie scooted his chair closer, then reaching down to pull his laptop from his book bag. 

 

"A study on the development of memory—that doesn't seem too difficult for a research project. Not too time consuming," the melodious voice of April O'Neil drifted into his atmosphere, promoting Donnie to divert away from his laptop. 

 

Lines of thought were drawn on her face, her absentmindedness allowing Donnie to catch a glimpse of her beauty. Refreshing, it was, to capture her when she wasn't having to put on a face or an act. Just her purely in her most natural state. 

 

April must've felt the tension of his gaze, because she then lifted those ocean eyes and established eye contact, as well as a nonverbal connection. It was as if she were a morning sunrise, light dawning over the horizons of her eyes as her lips curled, April then making her way to sit beside him. Donnie unattached himself from the contact, his surveillance retreating back to his laptop screen as he desperately hoped his cheeks weren't too pink. 

 

Mere seconds had just gone by when another voice suddenly rocketed through Donnie's atmosphere before he could even manage to say anything to April.

 

"So, how are we going to go about this? The development of memory seems a bit vague. What exactly are we researching? How the basic three-stage model works, or the specific types of processing? Or maybe the encoding specificity principle? Context dependent memory? What amnesia is? Oh! Or maybe on how easily manipulatable memory is, and write about how false memories are established, or—"

 

"Woah, slow down Irma," April said with a gentle laugh as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. 

 

Donatello peered over his laptop to get a better view of the teenage girl. Irma Langinstein— _the childhood friend_. Irma and April had known each other years before Donnie's encounter with his lustrous friend. He didn't have any strong or meaningful bond with Irma like April had, but three of them together wasn't unheard of. Especially when it came to school projects. 

 

Nimbly pushing up her thick-rimmed glasses, Irma folded her arms, her raven-colored bob swishing as she did so. She was a walking stereotype, that girl. Big intellect, even bigger glasses. 

 

"Look, Irma," April picked up where she left off, "How about you find a couple of books relating to memory for us, while Donnie and I discuss ideas on how to do our experiment."  

 

Irma squinted her green eyes at the two of them and puckered her lips. "Alriiiight," she elongated the word, her tone containing a hint of averse, "But you guys also have to find the empirical articles!" 

 

"We will, don't worry," Donnie attempted to hearten her. 

 

Eventually nodding, Irma vacated from the table, plaid skirt swaying as she disappeared behind the numerous bookshelves.  

 

As soon as Irma was out of earshot, April careened in closer to Donnie. "Did you find anything about...you know?" 

 

He was cognizant of what she was referring to—he just wished that she didn't bring it up.  

 

Unable to sigh deeply, Donnie inhaled a shallow breath before pulling his heavy backpack from the floor onto his lap. 

 

"I didn't have time to dive too deep into it, I hate to admit that it hasn't been in the top tier of my priority list. I did manage to scrape up a few articles and studies that I found slightly interesting."

 

Unzipping his backpack, he pulled out a thick stack of papers and handed them to April, though he felt wrong in doing so. He bit the inside of his cheek as he jiggled the mouse to wake up his laptop. 

 

April thumbed the pages with dazzling fascination, a small grin slowly blooming on her freckled face. It was that blissful ignorance that made him frown.

 

Donnie shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "April, I knowyou really have your heart set on the idea that you have some sort of extrasensory perception..." 

 

"And?" April subconsciously placed her yellow sweatshirt hood over her long red hair. He always thought she looked so adorable with her hood on. 

 

Before he could even begin to construct his next response, something flickered on his laptop screen and snared his attention. 

 

Donatello leered in suspicion. 

 

"What is it, Donnie?" 

 

"Nothing really—I just got an email from an unrecognizable address is all." 

 

"Lemme see." April leaned even closer, her face now so close to his that blushing was inevitable. 

 

"Tyler Rockwell at Techno Cosmic Research Industries dot org—well it sounds like your kind of department." 

 

"Well, you're not wrong." Donnie then examined the subject, only to discover that there was none. "But I've never heard of Techno Cosmic Research Industries."

 

Science and mathematics were at Donatello's center, the identity that clutched so tightly onto his being. Cosmic research, though, was a subject that he only ever brushed over. His domains were more along the lines of biology, chemistry, and engineering. He wondered how Techno Cosmic Research Industries even knew about him. 

 

"Well? Aren't you going to open it?" 

 

Donnie looked over his shoulder to see April nudging him, eyes full of urgency. 

 

He clicked open the e-mail. 

**Dear Donatello Hamato,**

**Techno Cosmic Research Industries is pleased to offer you an internship educational opportunity. Your schedule will be 15 hours per week, starting on October 3rd. For this position, you will be paid an hourly rate of $10.50."**

**Sincerely,**

**Dr. Rockwell**

 

"An internship?" Donatello blinked, sinking back into his plastic chair.

 

"Donnie, this is great!" April congratulated sincerely. 

 

"Normally, I would agree with you," Donnie motioned towards her, "But I've never even heard of Techno Cosmic Research Industries, let alone applied for an internship. This has to be some mistake." 

 

Donnie examined the e-mail again in search for some flaw or indication of an error or evidence of a mix-up, but all he found as he scrolled was the address to the building. 

 

"I doubt it," April placed a hand on his shoulder, making him freeze, "Donatello, you're the smartest guy I know, I'm positive lots of places like Techno Cosmic Research Industries are going to be begging for you to work with them."

 

Copper eyes traveled from the delicate hand on his shoulder to the girl no more than a few inches away from him. He tried to formulate a response from the compliment, but any and all words were lodged in his throat. He opened his mouth—

 

"Oh, are you two talking about TCRI?" 

 

April and Donnie both jumped, April gasping aloud from the startle, only to be greeted with a round of shushing from the other library patrons. 

 

Irma habitually pushed her glasses up, standing next to a cart full of books that Donnie could safely assume were all about the development of memory. 

 

"I'm an intern there, you know," Irma inflated her chest with pride.

 

"You are? I don't remember you telling me that", April raised an eyebrow. 

 

"Uh, yeah, I told you months ago,” Irma huffed, "But anyway, it's a really great opportunity Donatello—only the best of the best students get to work over there. It's an excellent foundation for your career path, it pays well, and maybe, if you're lucky, you'll get to clean out some of their Erlenmeyer flasks!" 

 

Donnie could almost chuckle at the amount of excitement Irma expressed, but he knew well not to push that girl's buttons. 

 

"I don't know—doesn't this all seem a little off? With everything that's going on, I don't know if I should trust it. Besides, if it is genuine, I probably have a better use of my time than dedicating it to organizing papers, fetching coffee, and cleaning Erlenmeyer flasks." 

 

"Aw, c'mon Don," April tugged his arm, "Irma works there, she's proof that this isn't some shady setup."

 

Irma nodded unhesitatingly, "Yup, I'm proof, good proof."  

 

April continued to urge him, "This could be really good for you! Especially with all the financial troubles your family has been going through, it would really help if you had something to bring to the table."

 

Donnie's breath hitched.

 

Innocence tended to glaze April O'Neil's words, yet fire would blaze underneath the surface. She was unintentional, she never meant to cause him pain, but the heat always left him burnt.  

 

Why did the O'Neils feel the need to bring up his financial situation every time he was around? They made it sound like he was  _poor_ , like he was saving pennies in a jar. He was aware of his current situation—he wasn't the same little boy in Mr. O'Neil's office anymore. Why did they seem to have such little faith in him? 

 

However, he would never allow such harsh feelings part from his lips—he would never want to hurt April. Even if, every now and then, she hurt him. 

 

She must've noticed the transition in his demeanor, or maybe how his fingers curled tightly around the mouse

 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that—"

 

"Sure you did," Irma inserted herself in the conversation, squeezing in between him and April and looking up at him with a facetious smile. 

 

April sighed, "No, I didn't, I just—"

 

A resounding vibration buzzed on the wooden table top, April grabbing her cellphone without conscious thought. 

 

She smiled.  _Casey Jones_.

 

Donnie peeled his eyes away from her, forcing himself to focus on the e-mail instead. 

 

Of course, rereading the empty words didn't stop him from wallowing in April's. 

 

Donnie sighed inwardly. Stormy, bitter emotions were clouding his judgment. Clearly, she was right—why squander this opportunity? He had the necessary skills, and probably exceeded what is required. He needed to mold and shape his life. Needed to embrace his identity. His purpose. 

 

 

April's stifled laughter faded in and out, the wheels of Irma's cart squeaked. 

Donatello remained silent as his cursor ghosted over the e-mail from the mysterious Dr. Rockwell. 

 

XXX

 

With labored breathing, Michelangelo continued to sprint along the pavement like he had been for the past twenty minutes. Despite the autumn air, his bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat, legs beginning to burn. The duffel bag that slung over his shoulder slowed him down a bit as he quickly tried to simultaneously shove on his knee pads. He couldn't be late, it would only lessen his chances even more. 

 

Running through the streets of Manhattan, Mikey only tripped a few amounts of times as he navigated his way to Chris Bradford's Dojo. Lucky for him, he had a pretty impressive memory, and after studying the directions, he was ready to go. Coins chimed inside his duffel bag, his elbow pads starting to loosen, but he had to keep running. First impressions were everything, and punctuality was an important quality—according to Leo and Donnie's past advice. 

 

City noises became numb, Mikey's thoughts overpowering them all as he reminded himself of why he was doing all of this in the first place. 

_To help save others. To be a hero. To make dad proud._

 

The phrase repeated in his head like a broken record, his mantra possessing him with all the determination in the world, and with all the energy in the universe. 

 

Veeringaround the corner, the driven boy was able to see the dojo, picking up the pace as he found more motivation to burn. The duffel bag was now being dragged along the concrete, Mikey's heart striking fiercely in his chest as he spotted the glossy doors. 

 

He knew well that a new course for his life awaited him behind that glass. 

 

Without hesitation, Mikey burst through those doors, immediately trying to catch his breath as he was greeted with a blast of cold. 

 

He let go of his bag. 

 

Empty—that was the initiate realization the boy had. No one appeared to be in the main area, the kid gravitating towards the center of the room.

 

It was quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioner. 

 

Swallowing to soothe his dry throat, Mikey gained his bearings enough to scope the dojo. 

 

Blue mats were perfectly aligned on the floor. Shoji windows. Weapons decorated on the bamboo walls. Even the terrible smell of sweat and rubber was nostalgic and comforting to him, everything reminding him of his old father's dojo. Mikey shoved his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. 

 

"Chris Bradford?" he called out, still a bit breathless. Removing his beanie, Mikey looked around as he wiped his forehead.  

 

Catching a glimpse of a counter in the back, he decided to lift his bag and shamble over towards it. 

 

"Mr. Bradford?" 

 

Holding the straps of the duffel bag with both hands, he heaved it onto the counter top, causing an unnerving echo. Mikey double checked the time on his wristwatch—4:06. His beginner's class session would begin in little less than half an hour. 

 

A wooden door proceeded behind the counter, no doubt leading to a private office of some kind. Mikey perked his ears, adjusting his focus as he attempted to detect a voice. 

 

A few seconds rolled by. He leaned a little over the counter. 

 

"I understand," a husky voice was heard, no doubt belonging to Chris Bradford himself. Curiosity pulled him in like a magnet, drawing him even closer. Unfortunately, that was all that Mikey could make out from the muffled mumbles, and he could only assume that Bradford was on a phone call. 

 

Attempting to eavesdrop some more, he leaned onto the counter a little more. After failing at trying to pluck coherent dialogue from Bradford's conversation, the doorknob turned, Mikey scrambling to get off the counter and straighten up. 

 

That was when Bradford finally revealed himself. He was well-built man, his body solid proof of his martial arts skills. Bradford ran a hand through his shaggy auburn hair, still completely unaware of his visitor as the door shut behind him. 

 

Mikey squealed, unable to bottle his excitement any longer. 

 

"Chris Bradford!"

 

Surprised, the man visibly jumped, eyes shifting from left to right before spotting him in front of the counter. Mikey saw Bradford's shoulders ease, tension flowing away as he eventually relaxed. 

 

"Why, hello there," he rubbed the back of his neck, "Can I, uh, help you?" 

_Let's try this sensei thing again,_ Mikey told himself. 

 

He inflated his lungs with as much air as he could.

 

"My name is Michelangelo Hamato. I know the registration was due a few months ago, but I just found your website online—and well, honestly, I just found out who you were a few days ago—but I just totally fell in love with your work! Dude! You're  _amazing_! I followed all your social media, and man, you're like a celebrity! So, I came here with my savings to pay for the Ninjutsu Beginner's Class—even though I know I am  _way_  more advanced than a beginner." 

 

After his long-winded explanation, Mikey caught his breath and extended his arms over, unzipping his duffel bag and plunked his piggy bank on the counter.

 

Bradford cocked an eyebrow. 

 

"Yeah, you kinda need to break that, but I promise there's enough money in there."

 

Seeing Bradford's face, he almost looked at him patronizingly. 

 

"I just really, really want to be your student," Mikey begged with the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster.

 

Bradford went silent as he scanned the room once more. "I see...are your parents around?" 

 

Mikey bit the inside of his cheek and reluctantly shook his head.

 

"Look, kid, I'm sorry, but you can't just pop in with a piggy bank and expect to be taught," Bradford scoffed, "The real world doesn't work that way. Why don't you go on home and talk to your parents about this? They're probably worried sick; it's dangerous to be out on your own these days." 

 

The child slightly turned away, gathering the determination that was starting to slip away. This couldn't fall through now. 

_To help save others. To be a hero. To make dad proud._

 

As soon as he got a hold of and strengthened his grip, he faced Chris Bradford head on. 

 

"I know, but hear me out. You see, my father was Hamato Yoshi. He had his own dojo, The Hamato Clan Dojo. See?" Mikey stretched his sweatshirt, smoothening out the wrinkles to show off his father's dojo logo clearly. "My father was my sensei, and he had promised to teach me until I graduated...but...he passed away," he glossed over the details. He didn't like people discovering the messy parts. "My brothers and I couldn't afford to keep the place running, so we had to sell it. But I'll work hard every day, I'll be your best student, I promise! I have my own equipment—I even know how to wield the nunchaku and the karisugma! Just please give me a chance, pleeeeease?" 

 

Bradford contemplated down at him, sympathy visible in his features. Immediately, Mikey's brain went down the list of all the other dojos that he searched up the other day.Someone  _had_  to accept him. Small hands encased the porcelain piggy bank. 

 

But suddenly, a guttural sigh came out of the man like rumbling gravel as his tough act seemed to fall apart right in front of him.  

 

There was an uncomfortable, sustained silence right up to when Bradford finally spoke again. 

 

"You really know how to wield the nunchaku and the karisugma?"

 

Mikey smiled widely.

 

"Yeah, totally! I even brought them with me!"

 

The boy instantaneously hauled out his weapons from the duffel bag, twirling the nunchaku effortlessly as to show a hint of his skill. This made Bradford reciprocate Mikey's evident happiness, giving a hardy laugh himself. "I like your moxie kid! It reminds me of myself when I was your age."

 

"Really?" He looked up at him.

 

"No, no not really," Chris Bradford left from behind the counter, moving to stand next to him, "But this is my offer. You join my Beginner's session today, and if you can prove to me that you're as good as you say you are, then I'll allow you to join. Deal?" 

 

Hope became like helium, making him feel lighter than air. 

 

"Deal! Thanks, Mr. Bradford!" Mikey beamed. There was no restraint as he dumped his equipment from the duffel bag onto the floor, scurrying to put on the rest of his gear. 

 

"One last thing, Michelangelo." 

 

Mikey froze in place, casting his eyes upward at the man who was speaking to him. Something warm and alleviating had washed over Mr. Bradford from the moment he first saw him. The man's eyes crinkled. 

 

"Call me Sensei." 

 

Muscles had yet to unlock, Mikey guessing that he looked like a deer in headlights. 

_Sensei_ and _father_ had become synonyms in his world, and he hadn't realized the impact until the word was spoken with its appropriate dictionary definition. Calling somebody outside the Hamato family 'sensei' almost felt wrong. 

 

But the reality was that his father was dead. His sensei had died. Progress was slow, but he was beginning to accept that. He swallowed. 

 

Mr. Bradford was only going to replace him as a sensei. Not as a father. 

_To help save others. To be a hero. To make dad proud._

 

Mikey, in conclusion, nodded. "Hai, Sensei."

 

It was 4:32 when the other beginner students clocked in, Mikey having situated himself on the blue mat in the front row. His short attention span would get him into trouble, a potential deal-breaker, so he made sure to limit the possible distractions by sitting as near as he could to his new sensei. 

 

Pressed together as if in prayer, the steadiness in his hands and the secureness of his stance demonstrated how easy this beginner's stretch was to him. But still, he kept his humility in check, and remained as serious as he could. 

 

Eyes drifted, however, flicking from the fly that buzzed in circles around him, to the dust bunny in the corner of the room, and eventually to the student standing beside him. 

 

The student was a young boy, couldn't be older than the age of seventeen. A bit bulbous, he carried an amateurish semblance to his form. But Mikey knew way better than to ever judge someone by outward appearance. Though he did notice that the boy's stance could use a minor adjustment. 

 

Seeing as Bradford was walking down the rows to inspect others behind him, Mikey side glanced, and whispered over to him, "Psst, dude, your feet should be a little further apart."

 

Confidence seemed to falter in the teen once he heard Mikey's voice, causing him to look down. "Oh, like this?" Inches of more separation improved the student's pose, Mikey smiling with encouragement. 

 

"Yeah! My name's Mikey by the way. I'm new, but I've been like, training in ninjutsu practically my whole life, bruh. So, if you ever need any tips, just ask. What about you?" 

 

"Thanks, and my name's Timothy," Timothy said, hushed. "And, well, I'm in the Beginner's Class for a reason. I don't really have much experience." 

 

Their sensei walked passed them, putting their conversation on hold until he was further away.

 

Timothy looked back over to him and continued, "Ever since those Purple Dragons came back, I thought it would be a good idea to learn how to defend myself and others, and more importantly, become a ninja! A crime-fighting ninja! So, I've been taking this class. Plus, you know, my mom wanted me to get out of the house." 

 

"Dude!" Mikey raised his eyebrows, checking side to side to see if Bradford had heard his accidental outburst. He lowered his voice when he knew the coast was clear, "I'm here because I want to stop those purple dirtbags too. I want to become a ninja vigilante so I can save people and fight the bad guys like the Nightwatcher!" 

 

"The Nightwatcher? That guy is like, my hero! I've always wanted to suit up and do what he does." 

 

"Yeah, me too! No one in my family supports my idea, so they don't know I'm here right now."

 

Timothy moved a bit as if getting tired from being in the position for so long. "Well, if it means anything, I think that your idea is awesome." 

 

It was that comment, that casual reassurance, that gave Mikey the stamina to keep going through with this. Hearing somebody outside his family and friends their support for his decision meant more than anything else. Mikey leaned over to reply—

 

"Ok, let's get this lesson going," Sensei announced. 

 

His lips shut and he looked over his right to Timothy, the boys making eye contact before the session began. From that short exchange of words, Michelangelo could sense a strong friendship forming in the near future. 

 

XXX

 

Manhattan nights were known to be electrifying—known to be the embodiment of youth, of freedom, all umbrellaed under neon that gave off an array of vibes that were interpreted differently to each individual. The nights buzzed with noise, each sound containing a story of its own. Those stories all played to form a symphony of various tones and created a well-rounded spirit of life. 

 

On the contrary, lately nights haven't been so vivacious. Lights seemed to dim, sirens from the distance now being drawn forward. The life was draining, the once melodious symphony now droned down to a monotonous and eerie hum. Colors became ashen, and the only vibe that could be perceived was _terror_. 

 

Purple Dragons had done this. They had plagued the essence and hope of all the people that inhabited this part of the city. By nine, doors were locked, voices were hushed, and it was all because of the Purple Dragons. 

 

Even so, Leonardo was hopeful that he and the department could heal the brokenness and insecurity. He was hopeful that he could resurrect these dead streets back to life. The only thing in his way now, was this damn case.  

 

Bouncing his leg, apprehension had never surged through his body with such strength. He felt it in his lungs, he felt it in his stomach, he felt it coursing through his blood. Despite this, he felt an overwhelming amount of positive adrenaline, making him foolishly excited.   

 

Sitting in a car a few blocks down from the hospital, Leo stared attentively through binoculars, waiting for the two thieves from the reports to crawl out of the alley shadows. 

 

"I can't believe I'm actually doing this! I've been waiting for this opportunity since I was just a kid! Being able to make the world a little safer from crime. Man, if only the others could see me take down those guys—even if it's just arresting two druggies. At least it would prove to them that we, that I, do help protect people. This is it, it's all lead up to this moment, I can't believe—man, I feel like I'm gonna throw up—"

 

"Leonardo," Usagi laughed softly at his rambling, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I've never seen someone so shaken by a stakeout. Please relax. We don't even know if they'll show up, remember?" 

 

Gaining his bearings, Leo took a deep breath and nodded. 

 

"Sorry, Usagi. With all this Purple Dragon business, I guess it's just stirred a lot of drama in my family." Leo lifted the binoculars away from his eyes, resting his arms on his lap. "Mikey doesn't believe we're making a difference. He thinks we're not doing our job." 

 

"He is a child Leonardo, do not take it to heart." 

 

Leo sank into his seat and let his shoulders slump. "I know, but he's my little brother. He's always looked up to me, was  _proud_  of me. But ever since he found out about his friend Peter, he's had little faith in me." 

 

This was ridiculous. Was he really that insecure, that needy, that he had to have approval from his younger brother? He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

 

"I don't know," he continued, "I wanted this job to help people. I wanted to give people someone to believe in. I don't want anyone to ever have to go through what I..." he left it off there, suppressing any emotion that tried to escape out of him. The rookie ran a hand through his hair. "Saving others gives me purpose. It gives me worth. It gives me more reason to keep going. And if I just do this small task, this simple arrest, I can finally feel that." 

 

A sigh was heard, and immediately Leo regretted the words he allowed to leave from his mind and off his tongue. 

 

"Leonardo," Usagi turned in his seat towards him, "I've known you since you were but a small child. I've watched you grow up. I was there through it all. What I have come to find is that you, Leonardo, are an extremely hardworking young man. Also, you are too hard on yourself. Your worth does not derive from your career status, or how many lives you help or save." 

 

Leo couldn't look him in the eye. He couldn't face him, or face the tension that he caused. He handled the binoculars, returning them back up to his eyes without acknowledging Usagi's lecture.

 

"Leo—" 

 

A crash resounded across the empty street, ringing in Leo's eardrums and making him jolt. Inspecting the area through binoculars, he searched for where and what had caused the sound. 

 

It didn't take too long—there had been fallen trashcan, along with obscure figures. Focusing his lenses, he could see that the two figures were people, and that they appeared to be arguing. How cliché. 

 

Leo put a hand on the car door—

 

"Leonardo, wait," Usagi told him. His friend peered through his own binoculars for a moment. A few seconds. Lips were tight. His forehead wrinkled. Usagi pulled them away from him, and looked at Leonardo with solemnity. 

 

"Grab your flashlight and follow my lead." 

 

Slipping out of the car noiselessly, the young man trailed behind his FTO with swift footsteps. It was beneficial that he also happened to have advanced ninjutsu skills, silence being its greatest weapon. 

 

The thieves had scampered down the alleyway that took them to the back of the hospital, Usagi careful to make their presence unknown. They didn't need for the criminals to have a running head start. Clouds fogged and hindered any star or moonlight, the cold night air helping him to be more diligent and agile. His nerves were too chilled to be an obstacle. 

 

The two officers clung to the hospital wall, Officer Miyamoto peering down the alley as Officer Hamato watched his ghostly breath paint against the darkness. 

 

Usagi motioned to him. "Turn on your flashlight," he whispered.

 

Fumbling just a bit, Leo clicked the button and warm light illuminated, but it wasn't comforting. 

_This is it, this is it. Don't screw it up. This is it._

 

Usagi dominantly strode into the alleyway, cuing Leo to do the same as he shone his flashlight. 

 

Shrunken pupils. Quirked eyebrows. Dropped jaws. One's body language translated to be more blustering than the other, appearing as if his shoulders were pinched together as he took one step backward. 

 

They matched the description—dark skin, lean bodied, and one sporting an afro while the other with an exaggerated mohawk. 

 

Mohawk glanced with haste over to his partner in crime, beads of sweat forming on his forehead in an instant. Leo steadied the flashlight.

 

"Would you two gentlemen care to explain what you are doing here at the back of this medical facility?" Usagi asked with a comedic amount of calm and patience, walking up to them nonchalantly as Leo kept the spotlight on the two. 

 

"Oh, nothing officer," Mohawk stated, "Just here with my buddy, Xever, hanging out, chillaxing—"

 

Xever smacked him on the side of the head and gave him sharp eyes. 

 

"What he is trying to say is," Xever's voice was glazed with accent, "Anton and I have a sick friend named...Ivan. We came to visit him. In the back of the hospital. Because he's sick."

 

Leo made eye contact with Usagi, the both of them raising an eyebrow and Leo being unimpressed.  

 

"Are you kidding me?" Anton blinked hard, going and sneering at Xever, who just growled in response. 

 

"I am positive you know the drill. Put your hands where I can see them," Usagi said. 

 

Anton spread his arms out as a wild gesture of shock. "For what?!" 

 

Leo swallowed, his throat dusty and dry. 

 

"For stealing drugs from hospitals all over Manhattan," the rookie said, voice not daring to waver. 

 

 "You—You have no proof of that!" Anton stuttered, appearing flustered.

 

"Your thievery is slipshod," Usagi quipped, the fun, slightly-cocky side of him showing.

 

Twisting and turning, Anton's brown eyes zigzagged before he pressed his foot forward.

 

Usagi stiffened and revealed his pair of handcuffs. "Do not bother trying to escape, we have you cornered. It would be a waste of time."

 

The two thieves gave each other side looks.

 

" _Cabrón_ ," Xever grumbled. It was barely audible, but Leo managed to catch it. 

 

Ominous stillness locked the four of them in place, time suspended as uneasiness kept Leo tied to the other men in the alleyway. 

 

Movement. A hand—Xever's—twitched in the slightest. The hand trailed down with the same pace and smoothness as rainwater trickling down glass. Leo watched intently. It stopped. And when it did, so did Leo's heart. 

 

Xever's hand rested at the butt of a gun. Why he didn't notice it before, he would never know. His frozen heart thawed, it now pounding as if trying to escape the cage his ribs created. Fingers gripped the handle, Xever removing it from the holster and pointing it directly at Leonardo. 

 

He lowered his flashlight.

_Run_.

 

His childish conscience screamed at him. 

_Run_.

 

Logic also rammed in his head as his eyes focused at the muzzle. He was a police officer. He had his own gun. Why wasn't he grabbing his own gun? 

_Grab the gun._

 

Feet were stuck. His mind was chaos. Body unresponsive. It wracked with shivers as it remembered the last time he was faced with a gun in close range. 

 

There went another click. Only Leo's eyes moved, and he saw now that Usagi pulled out his own, directing it at Xever. 

 

"Now," gravel crunched under his shoes, Usagi firmly holding his gun in one hand and holding the cuffs in the other, "Face the wall with your hands behind your backs." 

 

Anton leaned into Xever, a hand over his mouth as to keep the conversation private. "Wow, I didn't think things would escalate this much man—this is intense. Put the gun away. I'm sure he'll bail us out again. We don't need blood on our hands." 

 

Xever jutted out his lip, swore under his breath, tentatively concealing his weapon as him and Anton turned and faced the wall. 

 

Usagi nodded at Leo, gesturing him to come on over. Legs weak, Leo finally unglued his feet, strength returning as he reached for handcuffs and walked over to Anton. 

 

Tucking the flashlight back into his duty belt, he wrapped the cuffs around Anton's wrists and clamped them on. Anxiety gradually melted, plating into golden authority and confidence he didn't expect he'd ever be able to achieve. 

 

They were caught. They had done it. They had captured the wanted thieves. Leo now could prove to Chief Zeno he was ready. He smiled. 

 

Daydreams displayed in his brain of his success and congratulations when suddenly, spidery fingers tapped his shoulder.

 

It wasn't Usagi's touch. It was foreign and unknown. Leo held his breath. 

 

With great speed, he snatched his flashlight and turned around, shining the harsh light onto whoever grazed him. 

 

It was a woman. 

 

Slender figure, sharp eyes painted with a blood red design, and with deep raven hair that contrasted her pale white skin. The lower half of her face was covered, making her even more unsettling. 

 

"I see you've made things easy for me," her voice was dark and smoky, her hips swaying as she slithered even closer to the boy, "I would thank you for it, but that's not really my thing." 

 

Leo bristled. Both hands gripped the flashlight. 

 

"Who—Who are you?" Leo stammered. "You're not supposed to be here." 

 

She was inches from his face, heat radiating off his cheeks.

 

"The name's Harmony," her words dripped like poison, "But I'm in a bit of a hurry. I've come to take these guys off your hands." 

 

"Wait, what's going on?" Anton garbled, face still against the wall, "What's that crazy lady talking about?!" 

 

Leo then heard Usagi step beside him.

 

"Back away! Put your hands up!" Leonardo shouted.

 

 Harmony only laughed, laughing while her pupils grew from being slits as she adjusted to the light. 

 

"You're so adorable. First night of the job?"

 

Leo licked his lips. He's known this girl for only a few seconds and she somehow was able to burrow herself under his skin. 

 

Harmony shifted her weight, hands in her spiked jacket. "Look, these two are my business. You've done an excellent job, but I'll be taking over now." 

 

Feedback suddenly crackled, Leo looking over to see Usagi with a walkie-talkie to his mouth. 

 

"We might need backup—" 

 

"Oh, don't worry officers," Harmony interrupted, "We'll be on our way now." 

 

Without warning, the young woman pulled her hand out of her pocket, pulling out something small and unidentifiable before firing it onto the asphalt.  

 

Billowing smoke filled the alleyway, constricting his lungs and making him choke. Coughing and sputtering, Leo helplessly whipped around, attempting to see Harmony through the clouds. 

 

Then out of nowhere, he was seized by the shoulders, jerked forward, and felt heat snake down his neck. 

 

"Goodnight,  _Leonardo_." 

 

He was caught off guard, and then the next thing he knew was that he had landed hard on his back. Wind knocked out of him, Leo sucked in smog, nearly gagging on the foul air as he scrambled to his feet. 

 

The smoke began to dissipate, a kind shoulder then bolstering him up and helping him walk clear away from the scene. 

 

Usagi was coughing as well, less violent than Leo, but still enough to make his eyes water. "Are you alright?" he asked Leo with genuine care. 

 

Fresh air eventually managed to enter his body, his coughing fit subsiding.

 

As the smoke from the smoke bomb faded into the night, Leo knew he wasn't alright. Because him and Usagi were the only ones left standing behind the hospital. 

 

Anton and Xever were gone. 

 

And so was Harmony. 

 

XXX

 

**Preview for _Chapter 5: Silent Cessation_ !**

 

_“It’s a privilege to finally meet you in the flesh,” the other man said, a bit out of breath from his downward journey, “I’m Dr. Rockwell.”_

_Raph felt his cheeks burn scarlet. “Well, I mean I could ask her out, but should I?”_

_And at this point, he couldn’t tell if it was his recent development in anxiety, or if his seventh sense was starting to go off._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QEOBB’P X ZOLTA.


	6. Silent Cessation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps, maybe they weren't in the eye of the storm, but instead, that the storm was coming to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the half way point of Double Helix: Shaded Sunrise! Consider this like a mid-season finale

**_Chapter 5: Silent Cessation_ **

 

Tangible pieces of debris left behind by the disaster of grief were the only things that could ever satisfy his hunger for bittersweet nostalgia. Touching these objects always left an awful aftertaste, but it now became an addiction. 

 

 

At first, these bits of treasure were too overwhelming for Leonardo, and the simplest reminders of his father were hidden and buried. Most of these objects of his past way of life were thrown into his father's bedroom, locked away with no key. 

 

 

Though that key found its way into Leonardo's hand at some point, and unlocked his heart as well. Tampering with these remnants stung at first, but eventually they became a remedy. 

Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo were mystified when they discovered that he moved into their father's bedroom, being that he had once converted this room into a sacred sanctuary full of priceless relics to be left untouched. 

 

 

Logically, moving in gave the boys more space. It was a milestone for him. Progress. 

Creases curved from under him, cool silk cushioning his skin as if laying on a cloud. These bedsheets were imprinted with his father's scent, an odd thing that gave Leo comfort. 

 

 

Eyes gazed at the ceiling, making invisible patterns. Events curled like smoke around him, recollections making him feel like he was levitating—like he was inches from the ceiling. Leo was entranced, staring as if looking for constellations. Or maybe consolations. 

 

 

He closed his eyes. 

 

 

With a rise and fall of his chest, memories from recent encounters replayed behind eyelids like a movie screen. 

_"She knew my name, Usagi. She knows who I am," he brushes Usagi away, rushing to the patrol car in a flurry._

_Attempting to catch up, his partner called from behind, "Maybe you misheard?"_

_"I know what I heard. She called me Leonardo. She must be keeping tabs on us, for whatever reason. We're being personally targeted." He stops once arriving to the car, tempted to childishly strike it. Whether out of fear or out of anger, he doesn't know at the moment._

_Usagi follows, now opening the car door as he slightly shivers from the night chill, almond eyes gleaming at him. "We can keep our guards up, but please do realize that everything will be taken care of. We got this under control. Please, for your wellbeing, relax."_

 

 

Leo rubbed his face. The mysterious Harmony was a contradiction to her own name, adding more to the bitter concoction of his life.  _Who is she? What is she doing? Why now?_

 

 

Maybe Usagi was right in this instance. Maybe he needed to allow this to be out of his hands, out of his control. Maybe he just needed to take some time catch the breath that seemed to constantly elude from him. 

 

 

Leonardo sat up at the end of his father's bed. 

 

 

Hooking his feet off the side of the bed, he managed to stand on his own two feet. The young man trudged over to the master bathroom, going and turning on the faucet and putting his hands under cold running water. He splashed his face a few times, waking him up as he hoped his anxiety would also wash down the drain. 

 

 

Leo lifted his head and faced the mirror. Messy dark hair fell in the center of his forehead, an old Space Heroes t-shirt draped over his tired body. 

 

 

When was the last time he even watched his favorite T.V. show? Inspecting himself without being dressed in uniform, Leonardo could hardly recognize himself. His identity had corroded so much, had shifted so quickly, that seeing himself with bedhead and in pajamas on a lazy Sunday morning almost made him feel inferior. Like he was going backwards. Regressing. 

 

 

Leo reflected on that.

 

 

Wrapping up morning routines, he exited his room, officially welcoming the day and stepping into the living room.  

 

 

Donnie was out of his bedroom—that was the first thing Leo took note of. He sat at the kitchen island, brown hair more kept than his own. 

 

 

"Look, Sleeping Beauty's up." 

 

 

Leo turned, Raph lounging on the couch with Klunk curled up on his lap. 

 

 

Leo blinked. "What—What time is it?" 

 

 

"Precisely one o'clock," Donnie answered, sliding his laptop into his bag. 

 

 

"One?!" he ran fingers through his hair, "Why didn't you guys wake me up sooner?" 

 

 

Donnie shrugged. "Mikey suggested it. He assumed you were out real late last night with your case since you weren't back by the time we all went to bed. He thinks you need more rest, which he's right, you know." 

 

 

Leo scrunched his eyebrows, ambling over and sitting beside Donnie at the island. "Right, right." 

 

 

Placing his elbows on the table, his younger brother's amber eyes glistened. 

 

 

"So, how  _was_  your case? You know, the one from the other day?" 

 

 

There was a layer of innocence in Donnie's words. Innocence that made him sound younger and less scarred than he had been. He sounded almost _hopeful_. He sounded like his little brother. 

 

 

His stomach twisted. "It was a success. Usagi and I arrested them, they're behind bars now," he lied straight through his teeth. 

 

 

But Donnie smiled. "That's great. It's good to know that some justice is being served. I'm proud of you." 

 

 

Happiness swelled in Leo's tattered heart, a portion of the weight on it being lifted. Reassurance that he was managing ok, even if the foundation was on a lie.

 

 

"Thanks. You seem to be in a brighter mood today. What's up?"

 

 

"Oh, well," Donnie swerved on his stool, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, "I got offered this job down at this scientific research center called Techno Cosmic Research Industries. It's pretty much an internship, but it's something. I'm checking it out later today before

I agree to it." 

 

 

Leo straightened. Donnie hadn't even mentioned applying for anything, let alone being accepted.

 

He must've been out of the loop—more than he would like to admit. Despite that, he was very impressed with his younger brother's success. "I didn't know that. Congratulations, Donnie." 

Packing his bag, it was conclusive that Donnie was preparing to embark on that adventure. 

If he didn't know about Donnie and his new employment, Leo questioned what else was happening right under his nose. Swiveling forward in his stool chair, Leo called out, "Raph, what about you? What's going on in your life lately?"

 

 

Sound from the T.V. paused, a distressed 'meow' from Klunk after that. The second oldest craned his neck to see him from where he was on the couch. 

 

 

"Well, I know you're not a huge fan of the band," Raph blew the hair that covered his eye, " _But_ , you should know, that our new lead vocalist, Mona, really made the band complete. She's really pretty—pretty good singer."

 

 

Raph briskly turned away, facing the television and lifting the remote. 

 

 

"We're actually having an extra practice today. Who knows, maybe you'll actually want to listen sometime. We'll get noticed soon, just watch."

 

A smirk pulled on Leo. "We'll just have to see. But I'm pretty sure you'll have to name your band before it can land on the charts." 

 

 

"Yeah, yeah, we're working on it," Raph waved it off as he played his show. 

Even now at age twenty-one, there was no other joy quite like harping on your brother. 

So, Donatello and Raphael were doing well. It was relieving to know that their lives were steadier than his own. They weren't stressing about the safety of their home.

 

 

However, Mikey had been. 

 

 

As if on cue, the fourteen-year-old emerged from his bedroom, appearing to be lost in thought. Walking past, he didn't acknowledge any of the others in the room, his focus somewhere else. Though distraction was a weakness of Mikey's, this was definitely different. It was definitely purposeful, and he was definitely immersed into his own world and calculations.  

 

 

"Hey Mikey, what's up?" Leo said casually, trying to break him away from his trance. 

 

 

It went ignored, Mikey scooping his skateboard off of the floor.

 

 

"Mikey?"

 

 

"Hm? What about me?" he said, not bothering to even look at him as subconsciously spun the wheel of his board. 

 

 

Leo shifted in his seat. "Uh, well, how are you? How have you been? I actually haven't been seeing you around much lately."

 

 

"Oh, I'm good. I've just been hanging out with the squad a lot." 

 

 

The way Mikey had just tossed that comment over his shoulder made Leo suspicious. Mikey was starting to withdraw from him, become more aloof and isolated. More like a teenager. 

 

 

It was then that Leo made the correlation that Mikey had not brought up Peter Brood in a while. Was he still upset about it? Was he getting over it? Had something else happened? 

 

 

"Mikey—"

 

 

Low rumbling from on top of the marble counter broke his dialogue. Stone blue stared at Mikey for a suspended amount of time until the vibrations grew repetitious.  

 

 

Leo redirected himself to spot the sound, confirming that it was his cellphone charging near the coffee maker. 

 

 

He would have to talk to his youngest brother after. Walking over, he cleared his throat, accepted the call, and placed the phone to his ear. 

 

 

"Hello?" 

 

 

"Leonardo, it's me, Jack Kurtzman." The detective sounded chipper and eager. Leo scrunched his nose. He wasn't expecting a call from him. 

 

 

"Oh, hey Mr. Kurtzman, what's up—"

 

 

The man cut through his sentence with sharp excitement. 

 

 

"I promised I'd tell you if we got anything new about your father's case, and after months of digging, we finally found a possible lead." 

 

 

"What?!" 

 

 

His body became rigid. Mind and all thoughts came to a screeching halt. 

 

 

Leonardo then remembered the others in the room, and whipped his head up to see all three brothers giving him wide and curious eyes. Leo must've looked the same way. 

 

Lifting a finger up to them, he signaled for the three of them to hold on, the young man deciding to take his call in the hallway for privacy. Without haste, Leo rushed out into the hall and closed the door behind him. 

 

 

Firming his grasp on the phone, he pressed it as close to his face as he could as the air conditioning and anticipation made him shudder. 

 

 

"A lead?!" Leo said in a hushed, but urgent voice. 

 

 

"Possibly," Kurtzman replied, "The Hamato Clan is practically extinct, with the exception of you boys, and one other member." 

 

 

The hallway was empty, Leo transfixed on nothing in particular as he took some time to take in what his friend was informing him with. 

 

 

"Another clan member?"the words felt foreign on his tongue. Like the sentence was assembled mechanically and couldn't possibly have any real, authentic meaning. 

 

 

"Yes, she is a cousin of Yoshi's. Her name is Hana Hamato."

His chest rose and fell. 

_A cousin? So that would make her what, our first cousin once removed?_

 

 

Leo shook his head, trying to wrap it around this concept. 

 

 

Detective Kurtzman continued, "She lives her life on the outskirts of Tokyo, cut off from society, which is why it took a long time to track her. We hope to ask her if there was anyone who had something against Yoshi or the Hamato clan in general. She's a hermit and is hard to communicate with, but my partner and I are heading out to Tokyo early tomorrow morning." 

 

 

Leo grinned, picking up a pace in the hallway. 

 

 

"Really? That's—that's great news Mr. Kurtzman! Even more than great, this is awesome!" Leo said unprofessionally, "Do you really think Hana is a strong lead?"

 

 

The phone crackled. "That, we're not sure. All we can do is hope for the best. But who knows. We may as well be on our way to bringing your father justice."

 

 

His stomach flip-flopped as he allowed the information to settle while he digested it all. 

_Justice. Resolution. Peace._

 

 

Throwing his head back, he said into the phone, "Thank you, thank you so much Mr. Kurtzman."

 

 

"No problem, kid. I have some packing to do. Take care, Leo." 

 

 

"Bye, Jack." 

 

 

Pressing his thumb on the screen, he ended the call.

 

 

A long breath escaped from his lungs and out his throat, deflating him, adrenaline beginning to dwindle as he leaned his back against the wall. Floorboards croaked. 

 

 

A lead. After all this time, they finally had a lead. Shaking, his feeble hand covered his pumping heart. 

_We'll bring you justice soon, Papa._

 

 

XXX

 

 

Glittering white varnished the ghoulish hallway, every corner a glistening, yet unearthly extraction of color. Natural light failed to find an entrance to slip through—there were no windows, and the front doors were tinted. 

 

 

Manmade light oscillated its brightness just above him. Slight static sizzled and crackled. Changing the bulb might possibly be a task for him.

 

 

The sound of pressing shoes resounded off the empty walls, the downcast hall stretching for an eternity.

 

 

This building reminded Donatello of George Orwell's  _1984_ —the description of the Ministry of Truth striking a similar resemblance to the entrance of Techno Cosmic Research Industries. 

Recognizable habits came creeping back to him as he gave into the temptation to dabble in overthinking. 

 

 

Minitrue was infamous for cremating truth into ash, and for conceiving lies to spoon-feed the public. Looking back at the glass doors, Donnie wondered if wanting this job was him lying to himself. If TCRI, too, was a building that harbored his deceptions and denial. 

 

 

He faced forward and continued to walk. 

 

 

At the end of the dim hall lied two corridors, leading to what Donnie could predict was the main lobby.

 

 

Pale, bare hands carefully placed themselves on the doors. Not a single speck of dust was on the surface, a sign that this place was well-kept, and that people were on top of everything. 

 

 

Drumming fingers matched his drumming heartbeat. Without any time to refrain, Donatello thrusted open the corridors. 

 

 

The four walls expanded for the lobby, constructing a wide capacity. White still cloaked the interior, but had splashes of color. From desks and chairs, to indoor plants glimmering from the sunlight filtering from windows, to other signs of human life. 

 

 

Standing amiss of it all, Donnie saw bodies tear past him like rushing currents he wasn't trapped in, him being suspended in animation. Separate, and like he didn't know how to jump in and find the flow. 

 

 

His eyes sailed the lobby, the anxious realization that he had no idea what Dr. Rockwell would look like making him gulp. 

 

 

Did Rockwell know what  _he_  looked like? How did he even know him? Second thoughts came in an instant. He licked his lips. 

 

 

"Pardon me."

 

 

Buttery words slid off of another's tongue, the way the voice melted making Donnie flinch before whipping around by natural instinct. 

 

 

Embellished in a charcoal trench coat and a slim tie, a man towered over him, his glasses

gleaming from the industrial lights. 

 

 

"Are you lost?" 

 

 

Donnie nodded, slow and punctiliously. "Y-Yeah, I'm supposed to meet—"

 

 

"You know," he interrupted, bending down almost as if to demean him, "I don't recall any schools scheduled to visit, and I'm sure a child like yourself has no permission to be in our facility." 

 

 

There was something unsettling about the man. Maybe it was the way his words twisted and curled so effortlessly, or maybe it was the harsh lines on his pale face. Either way, Donnie found himself at a temporary loss for words. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. 

 

 

"Donatello!"

 

 

Another voice, though much less intimidating. Tearing away from the man in black, he searched for the one calling out his name. 

 

 

Descending down a staircase, a waving hand caught Donnie's attention as a sinewy man widened his eyes with enthusiasm. Donatello sent a small wave in return, turning back around to the person he was speaking to before. Only to find, that the man adorned in black had vanished. 

 

Donnie blinked. 

 

 

"It's a privilege to finally meet you in the flesh," the other man said, a bit out of breath from his downward journey, "I'm Dr. Rockwell." 

 

 

Swallowing hard, Donatello let go of the first man he had conversed with and faced Dr. Rockwell. 

 

 

With the scientist's hand extended, Donnie clasped his own onto it, shaking it with the utmost politeness. 

 

 

"Thank you, the honor is mine, really," the teenager said to him, tacking a courteous smile onto his face. 

 

 

Dr. Rockwell was a gauntly man, arms covered in thick, dark hair, ironic given his combover.

 

Passion was a standout quality for Dr. Rockwell—he could tell by the grip he had on the handshake. Passionate and energetic, no reason to feel that there was an underlying motive. Except for the one obvious mystery.

 

 

Releasing his grip, he cleared his throat, "How do you know me, exactly?" 

 

Dr. Rockwell retracted his arm, rubbing the back of his neck as a sign of possible embarrassment. 

 

 

"Right, my apologies. You see, I visited your campus at Roosevelt High as a representative for Techno Cosmic Research Industries. The principal brought you up in conversation, told me tales of your accomplishments. I was surprised you didn't show up to my booth that career fair. No matter, I thought you would be an excellent candidate to work alongside me." 

 

 

Donnie remembered that career fair, and he remembered how he hadn't gone. He was a bit all over the place recently, and even more isolated. But no matter, he smiled more. 

"That's really thoughtful of you Dr. Rockwell, thank you." 

 

 

There was a glint in Dr. Rockwell's eye. 

 

 

"Now, would you like a tour of TCRI?" 

 

 

Donnie nodded at the offer. "Sure, that would be informative." 

 

 

So, the tour begun. Dr. Rockwell had shown Donatello around the grand lobby, explained to him where he would clock in and out. He was then ushered into an elevator to lift him the first couple of floors. The tour was educational, and it wasn't until after the scientist presented the experimental investigation of cosmic microwave backgrounds and imaging surveys for the determination of constraints on the nature of dark energy that Donnie began to become uneasy. 

 

 

Dr. Rockwell lead him to the elevator once more, doors touching as they were ascended. 

 

 

"Have you made your decision yet?" Dr. Rockwell asked as soon as the doors closed. 

 

 

Elevator music played in the background. He tugged at his collar. 

 

 

"Honestly, I'm not exactly confident in my knowledge and skills regarding techno cosmic research. It's not exactly my field of study," he confessed. 

 

 

Doors slid open, exposing another long hallway. 

 

 

Dr. Rockwell lifted a finger. "Worry not. While TCRI was originally designed as a place of cosmic study, once it was bought by its new owners, SakIndustries, they branched out to a variety of different scientific branches. Like myself—I'm a neuroscientist." 

_Neuroscience?_ His confidence and interest dramatically increased now that that was informed.

 

Donnie grinned, but this time, genuinely rather than to be polite. "Really? Thank god." 

 

 

A wispy laugh came from the scientist as he leads him down another hall. 

Squeaking wheels could be heard from the other end of it, Donnie's inborn curiosity making him perk up and detect what it was. 

 

 

And it was Irma Langinstein, pushing along a cart of—you guessed it—clean Erlenmeyer flasks.

 

 

She spotted Donatello, causing her to wave at him and smile unapologetically. With a short motion of his hand, Donnie kept walking with Dr. Rockwell, not wishing to strike up conversation and waste time. 

 

 

After a few more paces, the man stopped at white door. 

 

 

"And this, is my lab," he said to him, pressing a thumb onto the lock-pad. "Behind this door is where I work, and where you'd help."

 

 

The lock-pad beeped, signaling that it had recognized Tyler Rockwell. "That is, if you choose to accept." 

 

 

His door clicked, becoming unlocked. 

 

"So, what'll it be Donatello?" 

 

 

This is what he was meant to do. Donatello Hamato was the genius. That was who he was. And who he was only. 

 

 

With newfound confidence, Donnie stood firm. 

 

 

"Dr. Rockwell, I accept your offer."

 

 

And the door opened. 

 

 

XXX

 

 

Thumbs tapped on green and red buttons as if someone else were piloting his body. Although his eyes were physically seeing the graphics of the video game, they were really searching in his mind for images of something else. Well,  _someone_  else.

 

 

It was disgusting. Horribly putrid that this sick cliché had possessed him so quickly, as if his will was so easily manipulatable. Buttons on the video game controller were pressed even harder. 

 

 

The curvature of her body, the way her voice had a way to penetrate his icy heart and make him melt in a matter of seconds. The way she looked at him. 

 

 

It was gruesome, this sudden obsession. How the idea of her clutched so tightly onto his brain and wouldn't detach. And he hated it. But it was also kind of nice. 

 

 

" _The winner is, Marth_ ", the TV announced, dark eyebrows arching slightly in reaction. 

 

 

"You're not even trying, dude. I've beaten you twelve times in a row! I know I'm good, but I've never been  _this_  good," Raph heard Casey say.

 

 

Mind temporarily free of its grip, Raph took in his setting. Him and Casey were up in the loft of the auto-shop, the two sitting in beanbags, waiting for the one that had infiltrated his once-believed impregnable heart.

 

 

 Invisible clouds of breath were pushed through his nostrils, Raph flopping over on the beanbag to look at his friend. Casey's long, dark hair was in tangled waves as the boy waited for Raph's explanation. 

 

 

He blew the hair from his eye. "Casey," the teen hesitated for a moment, still unsure if he should voice his thoughts, but in the end said them anyway, "Do you think like, two band mates can date?" 

 

 

Regret. Instantly, as soon as he saw that shit eating grin on his friend's face. Automatically leaning back, Casey's eyes bulged as his thin lips curled. 

 

 

"What?!" he laughed. 

 

 

Raph felt his cheeks burn scarlet. "Well, I mean I  _could_  ask her out, but  _should_ I?"

Casey sunk deeper into his beanbag, letting out a deep breath. "You really got a crush on Mona? You guys hardly know each other."

 

 

"So, what?" Raph snapped, his eyebrows slanting as he disregarded his impulsiveness.  

 

 

"What if she's one of those totally psycho girls?" Casey rambled, "Or what if she hates comics and pizza? Or worse, what if she picks her nose, dude?"

 

Pulling himself out of the beanbag, Raphael rolled his eyes, heading towards the stairs. 

 

 

"She's not  _you_. Besides, Mona is amazing, she wouldn't be like that."

 

 

Struggling to get out of his own beanbag, Casey called out, "Ok, but what if she has a boyfriend—dude, what if she's gay? What if she's a lesbian?" 

 

 

Raph stopped midway going down the stairs to give Casey a shrug. "Well, guess I'll have to find out."  

 

 

"Find out what?" 

 

 

And there was that angelic voice that made Raph act like a total idiot. He looked up to see Mona, his heart thumping in his chest rampantly. 

 

 

Clearing his throat, he answered, "Oh, hey Mona! We were just talking about finding out when you'd be here." 

 

 

No one else could ever make Raph smile that big. He didn't even remember the last time he smiled like that, so natural and raw. Must've been sometime before his father died. 

 

 

"Sorry, my siblings sometimes make it difficult for me to get out the door." Leather slid off her shoulders, revealing a Metallica shirt and bare skin. 

 

 

“Completely understandable," Raph told her, thinking of his own brothers at home. 

 

 

The last step squeaked, Raph ambling over to his midnight-colored guitar from the peeling folding chair. 

 

 

"Hello, Casey," he heard Mona greet as he strapped on the guitar. The sound of Casey trotting down the stairs followed after that. 

 

 

"Hey, Mona. Let's get this show on the road." 

 

 

He cut straight to the chase, coursing his way to his drum set and sitting on the throne with drumsticks in hand.

 

 

Much to Mr. Jones's annoyance, the crew was forgetful when it came to cleaning up their band equipment. Tangled cords, instruments, and stands of all kinds were still in the garage from last practice.

 

 

Strapping the guitar around his chest, Raph subtlety watched as Mona bent down and raised the microphone stand with finesse. 

 

 

Lifting it up to her height, she spoke up, "Which song are we going to practice?" 

 

 

Casey swiveled on his throne. "Well, we only have like, two songs so it doesn't matter." 

_We really should write more songs._

Raph plugged his guitar into the amp. "Let's just do..." 

 

 

Human instincts are stronger and activate more often than some people realize. Silence had broken in, hovering above them as goosebumps pricked his skin. 

 

 

It didn't take much for hearts to race these days. He had to turn around and uncover whose foreign eyes he felt searing into him, making him vulnerable. 

 

 

Turning away from the amplifier, he revealed to himself the stranger who was staring at him and his friends.

 

 

She stood at the entrance of the garage, with skin of the moon, hair like the night, and light eyes that shone like stars. Energy disseminated off of her, a gothic wave cascading over everyone.

 

 

Decorated with dramatic eyeshadow and harsh contour, she clothed herself in all black, her hands causally in the pockets of her jeans.

 

 

Casey, he had always been a straight forward and confrontational kind of guy. "Yo, who the hell are you?" 

 

 

The comment spoke for the three of them, all waiting for the girl to explain. 

 

 

She removed her hands from her pockets. 

 

 

"Forgive me for trespassing," she spoke with a thick Japanese accent, "My name is Shinigami. I'm a fellow student from Roosevelt High School." 

 

 

Raph blinkedwide eyes.

_Shinigami? This is Mikey's crush?_ She didn't seem to be his...type. 

 

 

"You're Shinigami?" Raph said aloud, still shaking off those somewhat tangent thoughts. 

 

 

Cymbals crashed, Raph turning to see Casey scrambling to stand up. Casey then pointed a drumstick directly at Shinigami. 

 

 

"Wait, don't you live with Karai Oroku? The daughter of a millionaire?!" 

 

 

Raph's eyes widened as he looked at the girl with a new perspective. 

_Karai Oroku._

 

 

It had been years since he heard that name hit his ears. 

_Man, both Shinigami and Karai, huh?_ He expelled hot air through his nose.

 

 

"That would be me," Shinigami answered.

 

 

Raph tilted his head. "Well, what are you doing here?" 

 

 

Black heeled boots clicked against the cement as she entered. "I just decided to drop by and hear

your music. As you know, Halloween is around the corner. I'm throwing a Halloween party at my place. I'm looking for local entertainment, and your band sparked my interest." 

 

 

"But aren't you like, rich? Can't you get a famous band to play—" 

 

 

"Sure," Raph cut Casey off, "We'll play for you." 

 

 

"Excellent." Shinigami grinned, folding her arms and leaning against the wall. 

 

 

Windows of opportunity were being cracked open, Raphael grateful that the breezes of change

were able to sweep him and Casey away. Purple Dragons wouldn't be their priority if they managed to seize this chance to perform and really initiate their ambition. 

 

 

Raph looked over at his band mates Casey and Mona, and it was pretty clear that the three of them knew which song out of their two to play. 

 

 

As soon as everything was plugged in, Casey banged his drumsticks together, and the two of them began to play their instruments.

 

 

The thing about music is that it never wears thin. It's always beating, always alive no matter how many times. Every time is a brand-new experience, even if the music was crafted by your own hands and voice. Dipping into concavities, discovering deeper meanings that revealed himself and the inner workings of his brain. Unraveling these mysteries were what kept the embers of his anger at ease. 

 

 

Patterned finger movements plucked the strings of his guitar, Raph once again captivated by Mona's hypnotizing melodies. Though by now, he was fortunately able to keep himself from messing up and in control.

 

 

Drumming synchronized with Raphael's heartbeat, his breath matching Mona's. 

 

 

Raph glanced at Casey. Confidence and innocent happiness sparked from him, and Raph couldn't help but be ignited by it. Seeing Casey happy, seeing him with that cloak of anger removed, it confirmed that Raph was doing the right thing. Finally, for once, the right thing. 

 

 

The peak of the song erupted, the ending now lulling to its stop. He clamped a hand on the neck of the guitar, choking it to silence. 

 

 

Raph had almost forgotten that they had a listener. Hair fell into his eye as he looked up to check on Shinigami. 

 

 

"So," Raph straightened, holding onto his nervous breath, "What do you think?" 

 

 

Playfulness was a quality that grew evident from the goth's smirk. "Not too bad. Would you guys be interested in playing at my party?" 

 

 

Raph smiled. Before he could answer, Casey shouted, "Band meeting!" 

 

 

Groaning, Raph ripped the guitar off of him, set it down, and huddled over with Casey and Mona. He was going to snap at Casey, but Mona spoke up first. 

 

 

"Well, I personally think it's a wonderful opportunity. Raphael?" 

 

 

Hearing her say his name made his heart leap. Once gaining his bearings, the teen nodded rapidly. "Absolutely, I was thinking the same thing." 

 

 

Casey rolled his eyes at him. Opening his mouth, the sound of high heels prevented Casey's thoughts from ever coming out. 

 

 

Shinigami appeared and stood over their huddled group. "I'd also obviously be paying you guys," she said with persuasion. 

 

 

"Goongala!" 

 

 

The three unhuddled, an unspoken, unanimous decision all tying them together.  

 

 

Raph went over to Shinigami, extending his arm and inviting her to lock in a handshake. 

 

 

"Alright Shinigami, it's a deal." 

 

 

XXX

 

 

"By the way, thanks again for covering for me 'Net. If Leo ever found out, I'd be so dead. He made it pretty clear that he didn't want me to do any ninja stuff." 

 

 

Shouldering his cellphone to his ear, Mikey packed his equipment into his black duffel bag as he sat on his bed of unraveled sheets. Leo wasn't back from the store yet, so now was the only time to properly thank her. October had just been reborn, a feathery drizzle hitting against his bedroom window during a chilly afternoon. Bradford's class would assemble soon, but he wanted to squeeze in a call to Renet. He hadn't talked to her in a while. It had been too long. 

 

 

"Right...no problem," she eventually replied. 

 

 

A smile with great elasticity stretched from cheek to cheek as Mikey commemorated his times at Bradford's Dojo.   

 

 

"Bradford is such a cool guy. I'm still totally psyched that he let me join—more than just join. He really accepted me. I hope it isn't just out of pity, but even if it is, I'll take it. He's been very..." Mikey slowed to a halt before making the permanent decision to let the word escape, "... _fatherly_  to me. He really cares, y'know?"

 

 

Knee pads were shoved into the bag. His bed creaked. 

 

 

"Oh, and Timothy," Mikey exchanged his tone for a lighter one, "He still has a long way to go to catch up to me, but he's so ready to join me and become vigilantes. We've been trying to plan out our costumes." Mikey told his friend in hopes that she would be excited for him. Proud, maybe.

 

 

"Speaking of costumes," Renet interjected on the other line, "Jason and Napoleon and I have been getting our Halloween costumes all together. We're gonna be the coolest group around, all dressed up as characters from _Super Robo Mecha Force Five_. I was thinking we could head up to the rich neighborhoods as soon as sunset, since you know the curfew, my dad won't let me out past it—"

 

 

"Oh, dude, I have to tell you something!" Mikey sat upright, holding his phone to steady it,

 

"Shinigami is throwing this lit Halloween bash at her place! Raph and Casey are performing, and literally every cool kids gonna be there. I thought we could all go!"

 

 

There was a heavy pause. An obvious shift in mood, though he didn't understand why. 

 

 

"But we always go trick-or-treating...And a senior party? My parents would never let me go." Her voice fluctuated like ocean waves, Mikey sensing her discomfort through the static. He twirled his hair.

 

 

"C'mon Renet," he began to persuade, "Donnie could go, so that means it would totally be safe. Plus, it's Shinigami! She's loaded! It could be the greatest night of our lives!"

 

 

Ebullience radiated from the boy, not that she could see. But he was entirely convinced with what he said. Mikey simply yearned for a special night out. Especially if that night had at least a sliver of a chance to be spent with Shinigami. 

 

A low moan rolled on the other line, a sound of defeat. 

 

 

"Ok, I'll try my best to convince my parents," Renet answered flatly. 

 

There was a twinge of guilt, but he knew that she would have an awesome time if she and the others went. Usually, his best friend was willing to take these risks—that was her character. She always trusted him. She just needed a gentle push. 

 

 

"Alright! Thanks, Renet, you're the best! You won't regret it! I'll talk to you later, I gotta get to class."

 

 

She sighed. "Alright...just keep me updated, ok?"

 

 

He couldn't figure out why she seemed so wistful, but Mikey did his best to put her at ease before he hung up. 

 

 

"You got it dude." 

 

 

Sliding his beanie over his head and his bag over his shoulder, Mikey ran off to continue to chase his aspirations. 

 

 

Being in the beginner's class had its benefits, as well as its drawbacks. A benefit was that he was excelling with great speed, immediately becoming one of Bradford's star pupils. And a drawback was that on days like this one, he found himself bored and being held back. His intentions were never to show off or to be arrogant, but there were times that he needed to control his patience and starve his ego.  

 

 

Mikey leaned against the dojo wall, his new friend Timothy slurping from the indoor drinking fountain. It was during breaks that the two would discuss their vigilante agenda. 

 

 

"So, wearing all black is already the Nightwatcher's thing, so we should stay away from that.

What do you think?" Mikey's eyes lazily rolled over to Timothy.

 

 

After what seemed like forever, the teenager let go of the button, swallowing one last gulp of water before wiping his lips. 

 

 

"What about green?" he suggested. Timothy carried an innocent essence, a childlike trait that he found in himself. It was that trait that Mikey assumed was what bonded them together. 

 

 

Stroking his imaginary beard, Mikey hummed in thought. 

 

 

"Timothy? May I speak to you in private please? In my office?" 

 

 

Both Mikey and Timothy straightened up at the sound of their Sensei, who stood across the dojo and motioned to the door behind the counter. Mikey looked up at Timothy, who looked down at Mikey before returning his attention to Bradford.

 

 

"Oh, uh, yeah, sure."

 

 

Timothy tramped over to Sensei Bradford with weighty footsteps, the man escorting him behind the wooden door. The slam made Mikey jump. 

 

 

Why did Timothy being taken to the back make him feel like he was sent to the Principal Campbell's office? 

_Did he do something wrong?_

 

 

Finding no purpose to stay over by the wall, Mikey floated back to his blue mat, crossing his legs. 

 

 

Considering the last time he tried to eavesdrop Bradford in his office, Mikey knew he wouldn't be able to hear the conversation, but concerns twisted in his gut. Twiddling his thumbs, he failed to tear his eyes away from the mysterious door. 

_Is he in trouble?_

 

 

Minutes inched by, each second feeling heavier and heavier. The weight pushed the concerns in the pit of his stomach up to his chest as nervousness lightly choked his lungs. Reality was almost beginning to alter. And at this point, he couldn't tell if it was his recent development in anxiety, or if his seventh sense was starting to go off.

 

 

  _Is being alone with him the trouble? —_

 

 

As soon as the doorknob turned, Mikey perked up, awaiting to see his friend's expression once he walked out. And he did see the expression. He saw Timothy's wide eyes, he saw fresh sweat beads on his forehead, and he saw frown lines on his ashen face. Mikey swallowed as Timothy came and sat down on the mat right by his side. 

 

 

"What was that about? You ok, dude?" Mikey asked, trying his best to not sound like he was completely overreacting. 

 

 

"Y-yeah..." Timothy stuttered, stare locked at his feet, "He was just...badgering me about my payment. I'll have to talk to my mom about it." 

 

 

The teen did appear rather shaken, and Mikey would've pressed further if he hadn't been so. He didn't want to add any more stress. Whatever Bradford said to him was probably enough. 

 

 

Mikey let out a chortle to brighten his mood. "Man, if my brothers found out I spent my life savings for this class, I'm positive they'd totally lose it." 

 

 

Timothy was broken from his spell, the little bit of color he lost now coming back as looked over at him. "It must be nice to have brothers, I'm an only child." 

 

 

"Yeah, they're pretty great," Mikey stretched his legs, smiling at the thought of his family.

 

 

"Donnie is a genius—he's so smart and he likes to invent cool stuff. Like a few science fairs ago, he made an actual robot! He even let me name it, since he knows I'm great at naming things. Its name was Metalhead. And then there's Raph—he's the coolest guy I know. He's in a rock band with our friend Casey, and this new girl named Mona. Raph is all strong and tough, but deep down he's such a softie. And Leo—" 

 

 

A spontaneous blow to the gut. Any trace of a smile vanished in an instant, his heart sinking to the very bottom of his shoes. Biting his lip, he turned away.

 

 

"Leo is a cop. Leo's really an amazing guy, but..." the boy hugged his knees, bringing them close to his chest, "Ever since my dad died, he's changed. It really got to him. It's made us grow apart. I know he works really hard, and that he's always trying his best, especially with his job, but I feel like him and the entire department don't really care about the missing kids and their families."

_That he's starting to not care about me._

 

 

The two sat in silence for a moment, the other conversations in the room filling in the vacant space. 

 

 

"Well  _you_  do," Mikey felt a warm hand on his shoulder, "I guess that's what you are—you're like the mushy heart of your family. We'll make a difference, Mikey." 

 

 

Slowly uncurling himself, Mikey looked over at his kindhearted friend full of gratitude. Mikey smiled widely. 

 

 

"You know Timothy, I'm so glad we're best friends." 

 

 

“Me too Mike...me too." 

 

 

XXX

 

 

Not much had happened that day. 

 

 

The world didn't stop. It was still performing its everlasting motion, life still carving out its masterpiece. The sun had come up, people still had their beating hearts, and there was still work to be done. The world didn't stop, but his own had. 

 

 

Leonardo had been in one spot that day, apart from the busyness. His feet didn't ache from tirelessly running in useless circles, his head didn't surge with overwhelming stress, and his spirit didn't drag behind him. No fresh wounds were opened today, no ripped stitches through the gentle fabric of his tore up life. Sure, the Earth continued to rotate and responsibilities didn't disappear. But that eluding breath he had been racing to grab was finally stored in his chest, and he was able to breathe. To rest like Mikey wanted. 

 

 

His lungs filled and deflated. 

 

 

Night had inevitably fallen, and Leo found himself at Raphael's bedroom door, already twisting the doorknob. He felt the need to check in on the family he was trying too hard to protect. 

 

 

"I'm surprised you're actually here." 

 

 

Raph was lying in bed, calm and somber with his pet turtle, Spike, on his stomach. His brother lifted his neck to see him in the doorway. 

 

 

"It's ten-thirty. There's a curfew," was all he said. Petting the shell, Leo knew that Raph had a soft spot for animals. 

 

 

"That's why I'm surprised you're here," Leo folded his arms. "You were very adamant about having an early curfew." 

 

 

He didn't say anything that time. 

 

 

Raphael didn't have much in his room anymore. All he really had was his bed, his guitar, and Spike. 

 

 

It wasn't always like that. It used to have band posters and Monster cans and magazines and his ninjutsu gear. But Raph had become the type of person to not let sentimentality wage war inside him. 

 

 

Leo leaned against the doorframe. When was the last time he had been in Raph's bedroom? When was the last time the two hung out? The two of them used to be so close. 

 

 

He stared at his quiet brother. 

 

 

"What changed your mind?" 

 

 

Moving Spike off of him, Raph sat upright. 

 

 

"I don't know," he said with unusual softness, "I guess I'm not the same rebellious kid that you remember me as. You're not the only person who changed after what happened to dad."

 

 

Leo frowned. 

 

 

"I know."

 

 

The oldest lingered, not wanting to leave just yet, despite the lack of verbal communication. But he needed to see the others, and he couldn't stay there forever. 

 

 

Growing stiff, Leonardo removed himself from the frame. "I have to check on the younger ones," he told Raph. 

 

 

No response.

 

 

Leo turned away. 

 

 

"Wait."

 

 

He froze.

 

 

"Are you guys really taking care of everything? The police, I mean. Are they stopping the Purple Dragons? Are they...are they figuring out what happened with dad?" 

 

 

Leo deflated once more. 

 

 

"...Don't worry, otōto. Everything's alright, I promise. Don't worry, otōto." 

 

 

His hand slid down the frame. And he didn't turn back.

 

 

Down the hall, Donatello's bedroom door was open. Wide open, with the warm and inviting glow of a desk lamp. 

 

 

Leo wandered over, scoping the room. Donnie was hunched over, back curved as he dove nose-first into whatever assignment he was working on. The teen tended to give his one-hundred percent effort, completely absorbed and soaked in everything.

 

 

Wavy brunette hair just fell above his reading glasses, his tongue sticking out. That was a habit of his when he was focused. 

 

 

Using a knuckle, Leo tapped on the door to signal his presence. 

 

 

"Hey Donnie, just wanted to drop by and remind you to actually sleep for once. You let me sleep in today, the only right thing to do would be to make sure you sleep also." 

 

 

Donnie straightened his spine, rubbing his face and not minding the glasses. "Yeah, yeah, I will. I'm just wrapping this up. If I don't finish, surely April and Irma would be my demise."

 

 

There was a teasing smirk on his face. More of an upbeat attitude was beginning to shine through the gray that had come over him. 

 

 

"Before I leave you alone, how was TCRI? Did you accept the offer?" 

 

 

The smirk grew into a full-blown smile. "It was awesome! They have practically everything there! I would tell you, but I'm sure a list of the complex equipment would go over your head. Dr. Rockwell showed me around his laboratory, and then the rest of TCRI after that. I really think things are turning around for me." 

 

 

There was always something about Donatello's smiles that were so contagious. His excitement spread like a virus—though nobody minded. 

 

 

"I'm happy for you Donnie. Just make sure you get some—"

 

 

"Yeah, yeah, I'll sleep, I got it." 

 

 

Leo playfully rolled his eyes, leaving Donatello with his door agape and welcoming.

 

 

Now Mikey's room was pitch black. Which was unlike him—not even his nightlight was lit. It was only open ajar, Leo opening it smoothly to avoid loud creaking. 

 

 

And there the youngest was, sprawled out on his bed with his limbs in all directions. Fully clothed and fully asleep, he could hear just a light snore. It was as if Mikey had just collapsed and knocked out as soon as head it the sheets. 

 

 

Leo chuckled. 

 

 

Mikey's room was a wreck, clothes and school items were diffused and covered every barren space. Steering through this mess, Leonardo eventually made his way to the boy's bed. 

 

 

There was something reassuring in watching loved ones sleep. Tranquility presented itself in its finest form, and Mikey appeared to be completely at ease. 

 

 

Bending down, Leonardo pushed the blonde hairs out of his eyes and kissed his baby brother's forehead. 

 

 

The fact that Mikey seemed to have not been prepared for sleep was a bit concerning, however.

 

 

Leo needed to check if Mikey had taken his medication.

 

 

As he was leaving, he casted one last look. Peeking out from under the bed was the handle to Mikey's duffel bag. 

 

 

He'd really have to lecture Mikey about cleaning his room. 

 

 

Mikey was usually on top of his medication—he'd been taking it for years. But all it takes is skipping on dosage, and he was aware that Mikey's memory wasn't always perfect. Maybe he should trust in his brother more, but he would never want to take the risk. 

 

 

Going into the front bathroom, the medicine cabinet creaked. A tray of pills was neatly organized inside. The S for Sunday was empty. He hadn't forgotten. 

 

 

Wrapping up his nightly routine, the quiet was appealing to the young man. As all three brothers were asleep, the oldest sat at the table while a cup of jasmine tea warmed his cold palms.

 

 

Crickets and sirens rung outside, a battle between city and nature. Of chaos and peace. 

_Purple Dragons, thieves, sensei, rock bands, bills, Harmony, cat food, job offers, Peter Brood._

 

 

He always tried to separate home and work like water and oil, but at this point he didn't know where his uniform ended and his skin began. Just last summer, everything was working out just fine. Not flawlessly, but still functional. But autumn is known as the season of change, and the temperature did drop. Now all of these elements swirled and raged in a brewing storm, forcing the family to take shelter and preventing them from moving on. 

 

 

But right now, in this calm, Leo could only hope that this night was the eye of the storm. 

 

 

Raphael was suddenly evolving into a mature young adult. Anger once blinded the teen, but he was now becoming the most levelheaded out of this situation. He was channeling his anger in a healthy way, while he also making sure his friend was healthy as well. 

Donatello hadn't been this expressive in months, blossoming and opening up like a rose and being a part of the family again. And little Michelangelo—although he has been having some bumps, Leo believed the friction was wearing him out, and that he was learning what it means to have fate. 

 

 

Raph wasn't angry, Donnie had gotten a job, and Mikey wasn't bringing up Pete. 

 

 

Steam curled and hit his nostrils as Leonardo sipped his jasmine tea.

 

 

And on top of all of that, Kurtzman had found a possible lead. Tomorrow morning, he would be leaving for Tokyo.  

 

 

Perhaps, maybe they weren't in the eye of the storm, but instead, that the storm was coming to an end—

 

 

Ringing ceased all thoughts. The sound wasn't loud, but in the quiet, it was deafening. It was Leo's cellphone. 

 

 

He set the tea down. Pulling it out of his pocket, he looked down. 

 

 

Usagi.

 

 

Something about this didn't feel right. Something about the way Usagi's name lit up, the way the ringtone seemed to blare like an alarm. 

 

 

It was awfully late at night for an innocent conversation. 

 

 

Red flags.

 

 

He swallowed and answered the call.

 

 

"Hello...?" 

 

 

A heavy breath. 

 

 

"Leonardo..."

 

 

Husky. Choppy. Breathy. 

 

 

He knew that tone. That tone of hesitation, that tone that swayed like a boat riding tremendous waves. His cold hands began to shake. 

 

 

"Usagi? Usagi what's wrong?"

 

 

Chapped lips started to tremble.

 

"Leonardo, I'm afraid I have catastrophic news..." his friend's voice sounded like breaking glass. 

 

 

He got to his feet, running nervous fingers through his hair. 

 

 

"Usagi what happened? Are you ok?"

 

 

The kitchen clock ticked. Ragged breathing.

 

 

The once comforting quiet quickly became an enemy. Seconds of soundlessness drove Leo to send a crashing fist on marble. 

 

 

"Tell me what's wrong, dammit!" 

 

 

Chest rising and falling, his heart lodged itself in his throat, every second of silence suffocating him more and more. 

 

 

A sigh from the other line. Leo grabbed onto the counter as his world tilted. 

 

 

"It's about Detective Kurtzman."

_No. Please, no._

 

 

"Leonardo...Jack Kurtzman is dead."

 

XXX

**Preview for _Chapter 6: Story Books_ !**

 

_“I’m sorry to bring it up like this, but you also mentioned your dad being…what about your mom?”_

_“Wait…are you dying?”_

_“Death comes for all of us, but something comes much worse for you. For when you die, it will be without honor.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	7. Storybooks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedies are written in black ink, but they aren't the whole story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think of that ending in Chapter 5: Silent Cessation? Any ideas on what you guys think will happen?

**_Chapter 6: Storybooks_ **

 

"So, you really have never been to  _24/7_?"

 

Rainwater rolled off his shoes as Michelangelo held the door open for Timothy, the little bell resounding to signal their arrival.  

 

As Timothy retracted his umbrella, he entered the noodle shop with eyes as wide as dinner plates, wonderment luminescing his lineaments. 

 

"Nope, this would be a first," his words tailed after a sigh of awe. 

 

The boys had agreed to the decision to start spending time outside of class, and as soon as Mikey found out that he had never been to his favorite restaurant, he knew that that would have to change. 

 

"Well, you're in for a treat!" the door closed behind him as Mikey then lead Timothy to the stools at the counter, "Mr. Murakami makes the best food!" 

 

On and off rain must have been unappealing, as the once bustling restaurant was now lonely and only managed to reel in two customers. 

 

Clambering onto the tall seat, Mikey watched as Mr. Murakami came over. 

 

"Murakami-san, this is my friend Timothy, Timothy, this is Murakami-san," Mikey introduced, happy to connect, intertwine, and create a whole network of friendships. 

 

Timothy tensed, giving an awkward and shy wave, "Uh, hello." 

 

The old chef grinned, though he obviously did not see the gesture. "It is always nice to meet one of Michelangelo's friends." 

 

Mr. Murakami turned in the direction of Mikey's voice, "Do I need to question what you two will be ordering?" 

 

"Nah, because I'm going to make Timothy try the famous pizza gyoza," Mikey finger-gunned his friend.

 

The man chuckled at his predictable response. "Alright, I am on it," he said before going to prepare the dish. 

 

The usual thrumming conversations that filled this place simply did not exist on gloomy days like this. Timothy began to whistle idly when Mikey chose to pull out his phone and activate its camera. 

 

His camera roll took up most of the storage on his phone—he loved to capture memories and cosset every captivating and convivial concept he came across. Moments he'd cherish and would want to view again. Pockets of happiness in his troubling life were things he never took for granted.

 

But lately, he had been too riveted and rocketing towards his destination to slow down and enjoy the spaces in between. 

 

Without telling Timothy, he turned on the front camera, positioning it so that they both were in the picture. Though Timothy caught sight of it and smiled by instinct, which made Mikey grin in return. 

_Click._

 

Mikey looked at the picture. 

 

It was a nice, sincere, sepia snapshot. Another for the collection in his camera roll. 

 

"Mikey, I've been meaning to ask you something."

 

"What?" he said, not looking up.

 

"Are we really friends?"

 

He turned his screen off and put it back in his pocket. 

 

The pompom from his beanie fell in the center of his forehead as he stared at Timothy. 

 

"Of course—why would you doubt that?" he answered with confusion. 

 

Panic on a minor scale roused in the teen, making him wave his arms in rushed reassurance, "Oh, nothing! It's just that, well, we don't really know each other. I mean, we kind of do, but we don't know about each other's lives."

 

Mikey crumpled like paper. His story was something he liked to keep packed and stored away, to be left untouched and collecting dust. 

 

It wasn't because he was ashamed of his past, but rather he knew that the contents were hard for people to swallow. Words were painful, most chapters written with ugly tragedies. 

 

Yet his cover was misleading. People were quick to misjudge by his cover—he appeared so wholesome. So happy, so warm, so pure. 

 

Yet once he was opened up, and they discovered the pages that bind him up, they would be taken aback. Their perspectives would change, as well as their behavior. 

 

All Mikey ever wanted to be was a light unto the world, even though his past was tainted with dark handprints from this place, and speaking of it always left a mark on others as well. 

 

Delicate sympathy was something he was sick of, he was sick of people treating him like he was a glass figurine. 

 

He was sick of ruining moods, sick of being a broken record. Sick of being broken. 

 

He gave a side glance. "Well, that's true," he told his friend, though with averseness. 

 

Timothy beamed, sitting upright and clasping his hands together, "Ok, I'll go first! So, like I've said before, I'm an only child. My parents got a divorce when I was really young, and I still visit my dad in Rhode Island, but I live with my mom."

 

He began to count with his fingers, "I'm allergic to peanuts, I have a pet gerbil, I love NES games, and I kinda have trouble making friends." 

 

Timothy sighed, but continued on. "That's why my mom made me sign up for something so I can get out of the house. I thought being a ninja and fighting Purple Dragons would make everything complete. Make me, like, the whole package," there was a hint of cockiness in the last remark, but he wrapped it up by adding at the end, "Now, what about you?" 

 

"You have a gerbil? That's awesome!"

 

"Uh, yeah, his name is Spunky. But what about you?" 

 

“I don't have a gerbil—but I have a kitty named Klunk!"

 

"No, no, I mean what's your backstory?"

 

Mikey bit the inside of his cheeks, quick to turn away. "Oh...well, I mean, I already told you about my brothers. There's nothing much more to it."

 

He really hoped Timothy would drop it, but it only got worse. 

 

"I'm sorry to bring it up like this, but you also mentioned your dad being...what about your mom?" 

_Mom._

 

Breath hitched, Mikey switched to biting his lip. He yanked his beanie to cover his eyes. 

_‘C'mon Mikey, if you want to be a vigilante with him, he's gotta know your origin story._   _If you want to be his friend, he's gotta know you._

 

He tried to cheer himself up, and slowly exhaled, pulling his beanie back. 

 

"There's nothing much I really know about her," Michelangelo forced himself to say, "She kind of passed away when I was really little because of kidney failure. In fact, the only things I can really remember her by is her special spaghetti, my blonde hair, and the fact that she gave me a bad kidney too."

 

"Wait...are you dying?"

 

"No!" 

 

Mikey's stool screeched as he turned to face him, it now being his turn to quickly reassure, "No, no, I'm not dying. I just used to have autosomal dominant polycystic kidney disease when I was a kid. It's when these gnarly cysts grow all over them and your kidneys shut down. It got so bad on one of them that I had to get a transplant when I was nine years old."

 

It had been a long time since he read aloud that chapter of his life. Though that experience would always be a part of the present, he never liked to purposely dive into history. 

 

"Jeez..." Timothy cowered in his seat, "I'm sorry Mikey."

 

"No, it's ok!" Mikey plastered on a smile, "It wasn't all bad. My dad got me some rad things, like my ukulele and even my kitty, Klunk." 

 

His father had been very against owning a pet cat, he remembered. But even his father fell victim of the guilt that one feels when seeing their child in a hospital bed. 

 

That white bed, the blue gown. He prayed that he'd never have to lay in one ever again. 

 

There was one nice thing he could correlate with the bed, however. 

 

"I even met my best friend through my times on dialysis. My best friend—Renet—her mom's a nurse. So, after school hours, Renet would come and visit me and keep me company. We'd talk for at least an hour every time she came to see me." 

 

She used to always wear cute Sunday dresses. Pastel ones with bows and frills—she'd even sometimes wear a floppy hat. Renet would always come in with stories to tell, books to read, video games to play. She'd sit at the end of that white bed and always cheered him up. Renet was the first person he really felt deeply connected with. 

 

Now, it had been a while since he's seen her. He missed her. 

 

"You also became good friends with me after the surgery, Michelangelo," Mr. Murakami spoke up, pulling Mikey away from his daydreams. 

 

The stool squeaked from under him, "Oh yeah, after I got my new kidney I had to start a strict diet, and so Murakami-san taught me how to make some pretty mean substitutes."

 

Timothy looked impressed—though it never took much. "You can cook? That's so cool!"

 

"I guess that's pretty cool," Mikey rubbed the back of his neck. "But yeah, that's why I have to take so much medication every single day," he said with a roll of his eyes. 

 

"What does it do?" Timothy asked.

 

"Well, since it's someone else's kidney, my body will try to reject it. The immune system or whatever. So, the medication makes it so it weakens that. They're called immunosuppressants. Which sucks, because now I get sick super easily." Mikey shuddered at the memory of his flu vaccination. 

 

His friend's features scrunched in concentration, "Wait, so let me get this straight...if you have someone else's kidney, does that mean you have two sets of DNA?!" His eyes bulged from his own comment. 

 

Hm. He never thought of it like that.

 

Mikey shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I do." 

 

He could already begin to feel the burdensome denseness that was crushing the both of them. His stories tended to do that. Puffing out his cheeks, Mikey took a finger and subconsciously traced a double helix on the polished counter.

 

"So, if your mom...does that mean that you're..." 

 

A deep breath.

 

"Yeah."

 

Nose tickling, eyes stinging—all the familiar sensations of weakness. All the signs of appearing to be the same broken boy people pictured him out to be when he told his sad tales. 

 

He was so sick of crying. So, not this time. No, he wouldn't allow his past to take control of his present. 

 

"About my dad..." 

 

He shut his eyes. Tears retreated. He was ok. 

 

Michelangelo twisted his chair and faced Timothy head-on. 

 

"He wasn't supposed to die. He wasn't sick like my mom. It was just a normal evening when I found out that..." He blinked dryly. 

 

"He was murdered." 

 

Timothy gasped, "Oh, shit." 

 

"We don't know who killed him, and what kind of degree of murder it was...but my family is managing okay. I still have three older brothers, and I have Renet and Murakami and Sensei Bradford and my other friends. And now I have you." 

 

Now he hoped his smile wasn't too faulty. Mikey looked at his friend, his short brown hair sticking to his forehead as he was still subdued to silence. Mikey twiddled his thumbs to exert his nervous energy. 

 

Timothy eventually sat straight, a mellow expression softening him. "Wow, Mikey...like I see you totally different now."

 

"I'm sorry—"

 

"No, in a good way," Timothy grinned, "I totally respect you dude! You're a strong little guy. I'm proud of you." 

 

Mr. Murakami then interrupted, placing two plates in front of them, "Two orders of pizza gyoza." 

 

The boys thanked him, the man ruffling Mikey's head before heading back to his kitchen. 

 

Taking his chopsticks, he said to Timothy, "You know, I'm proud of myself too."

 

XXX

 

"Kurtzman was  _murdered_ , Usagi. Jack Kurtzman was  _killed_."

 

Impetuous, Leonardo flitted ahead of Usagi towards the patrol car, vigorously shaking his head. 

 

The cops had to go on another stakeout at a different location. Chief Zeno was not happy when he discovered that the thieves gotten away under their watch. First strike out of three.

 

So, off to another hospital in hopes of finding Anton and Xever—if Harmony hadn't disposed of them herself. 

 

But those three weren't the ones that had the upper hand on his fragile brain. 

 

Claws sunk deep into his mind, any comfort he had experienced in the recent past now spoiled and revealed to be a betrayal. 

 

Detective Kurtzman was murdered, he just knew it. 

 

"That is ludicrous," Usagi called out, "I have already told you, I was acknowledged that Mr. Kurtzman's mortality was caused by a heart attack. You sound—"

 

"What?" Leo whipped around, causing Usagi to come to an abrupt stop, "Delusional? Paranoid?

 

I'm  _not_  crazy. The heart attack, that's the coverup. It's way too much of a coincidence that after years of searching for a lead on my father's case, that the moment he finds one, he dies out of the blue."

 

The rookie jostled the car door open, climbing inside and not hesitating to slam it shut. Childish, but he didn't care. 

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Leo saw Usagi go onto the driver's side, unlatching his door before huffing and sitting beside him. 

 

"He was fifty-four, Leonardo—"

 

"And that's not old. He was a healthy person, this was obviously a murder. And now his killer is walking free—"

 

"Leonardo, listen to me," Usagi gripped his shoulder, Leo wincing at the strength of the touch and shrinking under the eye contact, "Please respect Jack Kurtzman. You are spiraling down the same harmful path you took when your father passed. I understand that all of this news is very unsettling, but you are jumping to conclusions rather too quickly. Instead of engrossing yourself in your emotions and fear, please respect the dead. You have to trust me when I say that this was no malicious act, and that nature has run its course. Death does not have to be born from a nefarious act." 

_Death does not have to be born from a nefarious act._

 

Car engine grumbled. Brown eyes ignited. 

 

Lips began to quiver, the youth cleaving apart from the searing stare as he crumpled and caved in on himself. 

 

It was then that he grew conscious of how cold he really was. Leo shivered.  

 

Misty eyed, his voice became a pathetic whimper, "I just...I can't believe he's really gone. I can't believe he was so close to figuring out who killed my father. I just can't believe my friend is gone." 

 

Rain pitter-pattered against the windshield. Lungs became shallow and hollow, his breath just as temporary as the lives of those around him. Breath entered, and breath dissipated, much like human souls. 

 

Condensation clouded windows. His vision was opaque, and his path was so hazy. 

 

He wasn't a stranger to grief, but with every single loved one buried, a portion of himself was lost. Irretrievable and irreplaceable. 

 

Usagi pressed the gas pedal.

 

"It is going to be alright. Kurtzman is in a wonderful place now, filled with peace and pure bliss. I am positive he would not want you to be in such despair over him."

 

Leo closed his eyes. 

 

"I can't help it." 

 

The ride was short but filled with lethal laconism. Like a single utterance would rupture a fracture. Like speaking would make Jack Kurtzman even more dead. 

 

Windshield wipers swayed back and forth like a pendulum. Back and forth, back and forth. 

 

Leonardo had thought the pain was coming to a stop, but he should've known that things were going too well. When things are going too well, the scale must tip, and the pendulum would swing back to tragedy. 

 

If only someday, he could just find equilibrium. 

 

Back and forth, back and forth. 

 

Usagi and Leo stayed a block away just like the last stakeout. Though hours had gone by and Anton and Xever had yet to creep out of the shadows. Maybe it was because of the rain. 

 

Leo chuckled to himself, Usagi turning his head at the first human sound to appear in a while. 

 

"You know," Leo began, staring out the blurry windshield. "It rained when he died. My father, I mean. A cruel cliché, but the truth nevertheless."

 

No words. Usagi turned off the wipers. 

 

"I had just turned twenty-one. He had taken me out for my first  _legal_  drink," he continued, recounting the most painful day of his life. No matter how badly he'd wish to repress the tragedy, it was stained on every component that made him human—heart, mind, and soul. 

 

"I know it's kind of lame for your father to be the one to take you out on your twenty-first birthday, but it hadn't bothered me. We were close. Really close." 

 

He cracked an ironic smile. "While we were at the bar, he had given me this whole, long speech about what it meant to be an adult. What it meant to be a man. I can't really recall the words anymore. Probably something wise and whimsical, something that could probably help me right about now."

 

As the story unfolded, memories became clearer and more prominent. He swallowed hard. 

 

"We were in a taxi on our way home when I noticed my father appearing lost in thought and distracted. I knew he hadn't gotten too drunk, and that he was too focused on something to be just spacing out. And that was when he suddenly told the driver to pull over."

_Young Leonardo's eyes raise as he sees Yoshi exit the taxi with undeniable urgency._

_"Father? Are you sick? Where are you going?"_

 

Remembering gave his body a negative response, the trauma making his heart pound. He pushed through and continued the story, "I didn't know why he got out, but I didn't get too worried until he looked at me dead in the eyes, and said to 'stay in the car'."

_Yoshi's eyes are hooded with darkness as his eyelashes catch raindrops._

_"Stay in the car. I will be right back, but it is crucial that you stay in this taxi. Do you understand?" his voice is stone, the wrinkles on his forehead adding more to the sternness of his tone._

_Worry pours in faster than the rain._

_"Father, what's wrong?" his voice shatters similarly to a child's._

_"I cannot explain—just promise me, promise me you'll stay right here and not go after me."_

_"Papa—" he begins to beg for an answer._

_"Leonardo! Promise me, please."_

_This only fans his curiosity, but the desperation in his beloved father's voice creates a strong sense of fear and respect, which overpowers. He leans away from the car door before nodding._

_"Okay."_

 

Leo gripped the armrest is his seat. 

 

"The serious and stern way he said it made my stomach drop. I then watched as he disappeared down a narrow alleyway. Seconds transitioned into minutes, and the taxi driver wasn't the only one growing impatient. As you know, my father believed in spirits. He passed down that ideology to me, I suppose. I was never too certain where I stood on my belief until that moment. Because in that moment, I swear something possessed me. A feeling, a warning. A constant voice that was screaming at me that something absolutely terrible was about to go down just beyond the alley. And I couldn't just sit there anymore. I ran out to follow where he had gone."

_"Sensei?" he calls out, the taxi stranding him as he ventures further down the suspicious alley._

 

  _"Father?"_

 

"I remember hearing my father yelling, though my mind couldn't translate the dialogue due to the terror fogging it. But I do remember my father saying one thing, one haunting thing that I think about every night before I fall asleep."

_As voices grew louder, young Leo clings to the wall to stay hidden. Unexplained shudders rattle him as rain weighs down his hair. He pants with anxiety._

 

"He said, 'death comes for all of us, but something comes much worse for you. For when you die, it will be without honor'."

_"Death comes for all of us, but something comes much worse for you. For when you die, it will be without honor."_

_The boy can't hide any longer._

 

Gripping the armrest tighter, his throat constricted as mangled words were forced out. "It was when I finally turned the corner when it happened."

_Bang!_

 

"The trigger was pulled, and the bullet was shot."

_Leo's pupils shrink as he lets out a measly gasp._

 

Tears streamed down his face. "My dad stumbled backwards into me, and I was able to catch him before he could fall to the ground. My knees buckled. I instantly went into a state of shock. I couldn't think, I couldn't talk, I couldn't breathe. All I could do was stare as the bloodstain grew larger and larger."

_Red. Inking, spilling, spreading. Such a beautiful color. Enchanting, almost. Beautiful crimson. A hand runs through his father's wet hair._

 

_His bodily functions force a sharp inhale, sucking Leo back to reality long enough for him to lift his head up._

 

"During a pocket of mental control, I looked up to try to see the man who had done this. I only managed to see the barrel of a gun, and a masked face before the killer ran off. And then suddenly I heard strangled words struggling to surface from my father's bloodied mouth. He was choking on his own breath, the very thing that gave him life was now forsaking him. He couldn't speak. He didn't give me any last wisdom. It all happened so fast. It was when his eyes rolled back that mine began to water."

_"...Papa?"_

_Eyelids close. He shakes his father once more._

_"Papa, please don't. Papa don't, please."_

_Hyperventilation. He trembles violently._

 

"The initial shock wore off long enough for me to catch up on what had just happened. I uselessly began to call out for help, attempted to salvage what little blood supply he had left."

_Pressing his white hands over red, his lungs finally give him permission to bawl._

_"Help! Somebody! My dad's been shot! Someone, anyone, please! Help me!"_

_His pleas went ignored. Gazing down, he slowly rose his new bloody hands, uncontrollably shaking. But he doesn't give up hope. His father taught him to never give up hope._

_Cupping Yoshi's face, he uses his thumbs to wipe the rain from his closed eyes._

_"Papa, please open your eyes, ok? Just open your eyes."_

_Nothing._

_"Please! Daddy, please! Please don't go!"_

_Sniffling, he pulls him in closer and places his ear against his chest._

_Nothing._

 

"I was too late." 

_"No...no, you can't die! Please come back! I still need you!" he sobs._

_Crunched up in the back of the alley, the boy continues to sob and scream until his throat turns raw and tastes of iron._

 

_Peering down at his father, he only then notices how ashen he has become, how still. How lifeless. Hiccupping, he lowers himself down, kissing his father's forehead one last time._

 

A thumb suddenly wiped a tear off his cheek. Leonardo jumped, looking and seeing the sympathy written on Usagi. 

 

"...It's not your fault," his friend told him. 

 

He took a deep breath, rubbing away the excess tears that escaped from telling his tale. 

 

"I know it's not. It's the bastard with the gun, whoever the hell he is. I just, I just don't get it. My father never explained what he was doing, or why he got out in the first place to speak to this man. But whoever he is, he doesn't deserve any mercy." 

 

Somewhere along the course of the story, the rain had stopped, and the clouds had parted for the time being. A shaded sunrise was beginning to poke over the horizon, casting an ominous warmth and mixture of light and dark. An equilibrium. 

 

But Leo knew this was far from over. And he knew that whoever killed Kurtzman was also his father's killer. 

 

"And it's like my father said," Leo said to Usagi as they started up the patrol car to head out. 

 

"When he dies, it will be without honor." 

 

XXX

 

**Preview for _Chapter 7: Spooky Suspicions_ !**

 

_Before leaving, Usagi gave Leonardo one last look. “Tell the boys I wish them a happy Halloween.”_

_The Oroku mansion was, for a fact, the most lavish place Raphael had ever set foot in—outstretched, crystalline windows made up a portion of the building’s walls, flat roofs sheltered it, and it had a striking white exterior—recognizable, modern Japanese architecture._

_“Karai?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JLJ, AXA, XKA, COFBKA,  
> XII QEOBB EXSB AOLMMBA ABXA.  
> LKB FII, LKB HFIIBA…  
> TFII JLOB YLLA YB PFIIBA?


	8. Spooky Suspicions

**_Chapter 7_ ** _: **Spooky Suspicions**_

 

Cinnamon candles and chocolate coalesced with the cool air, casted autumn leaves resting composedly on the fire escape. Silver clouds these past few months had been common, but today they hung lower than usual, creating a slight fog. Which set the perfect mood for this day. 

 

He bundled against his fluffy sweatshirt for warmth. 

 

As _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ played in the background, Michelangelo sat at the table, twisting a miniature pumpkin by the stem.

 

Ever since September twelfth, Mikey had been haunted by the scary kidnapping of his friend Peter. Ever since that kidnapping, he had been so bewitched with wanting to protect people from the demons of the night. Ever since that dedication, he had been so consumed with training behind his brothers' backs, a monster of a lie that kept growing bigger and bigger.

 

Ever since September twelfth. Now it was October thirty-first. 

 

_"This is Halloween, this is Halloween, pumpkins scream in the dead of night."_

 

Orange captivated his eyes. This night was supposed to be the most spine-chilling night of the year, but it seemed like his insomniac nights prior to today were the ones that really left him cold. 

 

Peter has been missing for more than a month—would one night of not worrying really change anything? Mikey blew a raspberry. 

 

It was Halloween—he had been working hard. He could let go of Pigeon Pete and Purple Dragons for one night, right? He could go to Shinigami's party without those concerns burrowing deep into his brain.

 

Raising his head from his dead thoughts, Mikey caught sight of Raph and Leo loitering in the kitchen and spoke aloud, "Hey, would it be cool if the squad and I went to the party at the same time as Anarchist?" 

 

Careening against the counter, Leo crinkled his nose. "Anarchist?" 

 

Raph flung the fridge door shut and rolled his eyes, "Casey's most recent terrible suggestion for a band name, but it is _not_ official whatsoever." 

 

"I think it's a good name," Mikey said to him. 

 

Raph gave him a look, "Really? Anarchist?" 

 

"Ok, no, you're right, it's terrible." 

 

Positioning his posture and balancing his beanie, Mikey returned his gaze to Leo for an answer. 

 

"I don't know Mikey," the oldest crossed his arms, "You've been getting Ds in school, your room is a mess, and I don't even know if this party will be...at your level." 

 

With all the training, thoughts hadn’t crawled into those other aspects of his life. 

 

But Raph paced past Leo, hitting him on the shoulder. "C'mon Leo, don't be so uptight. It's Halloween, let the runt go. I'll be there, and so will Case and Mona." 

 

Mikey's face lit up like a jack-o-lantern. "Yeah, what Raph said!" 

 

Leo arched an eyebrow. "What about Donnie, is he going?" 

 

"Going where?" 

 

Donnie emerged out of his bedroom at the precise moment in the conversation. Amethyst colored his sweater, the handle of a mug hooked by crooked fingers as Donatello made a beeline for the coffeemaker. 

 

Mikey then raised his arms to emphasize his enthusiasm, and in hopes to reel back in Donnie’s wandering attention. "To Shinigami's Halloween party!" 

 

Squinting his eyes in quandary, Donnie placed his hand behind his neck. "I don't know, I have things to do." 

 

His token excuse. Mikey let out a whine. "But Donnie, it's Halloween! We always used to do _something_ , it's tradition. Even April is going to be there." 

 

As soon as the name was pushed off his tongue, Donnie seemed to loosen up. Or perhaps, maybe wilt. Decompose. 

 

Mikey, Raph, and Leo all watched for a response from Donnie, his dialogue delayed due to creating his creamer concoction for his coffee. 

 

“Right,” Donnie eventually said, “Well, I'll think about it.” 

 

“Oh, also, Renet’s parents are more likely to say yes if you come with us,” Mikey tagged at the end. 

 

This causes Donnie to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh in defeat, as well as annoyance. 

 

“Ok, ok, but don’t expect me to stay long.”

 

“Yes!” 

 

That left one last brother to ask if he would go. Mikey pulled the pumpkin closer. 

 

Leo and him hadn't been on the right foot since September twelfth. There was an indisputable distance between them, every argument having push them further apart. A giant wedge blocked their connection, but Mikey was certain he could get over his hurt feelings and bridge it together again for at least one night. 

 

"Leo? What about you?" he said, full of rosiness. 

 

 But Michelangelo, he picked up on Leonardo's tells. Not for when he was lying, but for when he was about to deny a request. 

 

He watched as his brother sighed and ran a hand through messy hair. 

 

"With all that's been happening, I think it's best if I just enjoy the night in." 

 

_He's had nights in, what he needs is a night out._

 

Clasping his hands together, Mikey dilated his puppy dog eyes to counteract the rejection. "Pretty please?" he begged, but to no avail. 

 

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket, stopping Mikey from pressing the subject further. Pulling it out, he noticed a text notification from “Mondo”.

 

He smiled with childlike frivolity. 

 

"Got a text from Jason, gotta go get our costumes touched up. I'll see you guys later!" Mikey got up quickly, tugging at his scarf and pulling the hood over his beanie to brace the for the brumal weather. 

 

Before opening the front door, he grabbed a handful of candies from the bowl on the counter and shoved them in his mouth. 

 

“Hey, don't eat yourself sick," he heard Leo scold from over his shoulder.

 

"Relax Leo," a few pieces fell out of his full mouth, "I only eat this bad once a year." 

 

Once Mikey made sure the door closed behind him, he ran down the hallway and went on his way. 

 

XXX

 

There was a certain type of darkness that only decorated his body during times of distress and true mourning. One the hung in the very back of his closet, hidden from the light of day. 

 

Fingertips felt the forsaken fabric, the black suit dangerously fresh and warm. 

 

Every time this attire adorned him, Leonardo would hope for it to be the last time. But death, he knew, was an inevitable part of life, something that no one could escape. 

 

There were three major times he had had to wear this type of black, and those three times certainly left a scar and carved him into a new shape. First mom, then dad, and most recently, a friend. 

 

Jack Kurtzman's wake wasn't too long or torturous. It was a quiet, peaceful ceremony. But the simple act of having to dress in that dastardly suit and watch his friend's corpse be buried six feet under, it was enough to strike a powerful chord. 

 

He knew there was a murderer on the loose. A merciless one with a ribcage that had no heart to occupy, and a decaying mind. 

 

Leonardo closed the closet door when he heard a knock from the front one. 

 

Exiting his bedroom, he scratched his head. It was only four, no way could trick-or-treaters already be here. 

 

Maybe it was because of the curfew. 

 

With feet made of lead, Leo lumbered over to the front door, grabbing the bowl of miscellaneous candies. 

 

He opened the door and immediately scrunched his face with confusion.  "Usagi?" 

 

There his friend stood, out of uniform and with a lighthearted smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

 

"Hello, Leonardo," he said causally, no hint of questioning himself as he took some of the candy from his bowl, "I just decided to stop by and check on the Hamato clan. Are the others home by any chance?"

 

Setting the bowl back onto the counter, Leo paced into his empty living room. 

 

"You just missed them, they all went to get ready for some Halloween party down at the Oroku mansion."  

 

"Oroku mansion?" Leo heard Usagi step inside, "As in Oroku Karai?" 

 

Leo tensed. He bit the inside of his cheek. "Yeah." 

 

"I see...Did you not wish to go with them?"

 

Surrendering, Leo faced Usagi with a deep sigh. "With everything that's been going on, I think a party is the last thing I'm up for. Besides, there's some chores to do around here."

 

Usagi leaned against the counter, a look of dissatisfaction appearing after hearing his answer. "Right." 

 

Lethal lull lingered between the two of them in the living room, the choking silence causing Leo to feel claustrophobic.  He looked over at Usagi. The awkwardness kept Leo’s mouth sewn shut, and left his unused tongue to collect dust.  

 

Usagi was strong enough to break through the iciness, relaxing his muscles. 

 

"Here," he eventually said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a king-sized Hershey bar, "Can you please give this to Michelangelo for me?" 

 

Something about hearing his littlest brother's name made Leo zap back into his unforgiving reality. He snatched it from his friend's hand with impulsivity. 

 

"Usagi, you know Mikey shouldn't be eating shit like this," he scolded with the sharpness of a sword.

 

Usagi rolled his eyes playfully, "It is a holiday, one will not kill him."

 

“Yes, it _can_.” 

 

His voice had crackled like thunder—he hadn’t intended to sound so harsh and cruel. 

 

But another deathly silence fell on the boys, and it didn't take long for the guilt to creep and crawl. 

 

Leo sunk, going and holding onto the counter for any kind of support. 

 

"I'm sorry." 

 

And at first, Usagi said nothing. Vexation  quickly developed, fear that he had actually hurt his friend making him frown. 

 

But Usagi exhaled, going and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder as he often did. 

 

"I know a lot has happened in these past weeks, and that you have had to take them very seriously. You have been working very hard, and we are all proud,” he said to him, much so in a fatherly way, “But you are not in uniform today. I used to be similar to you. I always believed I was being focused and on task, responsible. But I came to realize that I was not living my life as efficient as I thought, because I was not happy. There is time for work, and time for play. A human being needs both to maintain a healthy and fulfilling life. Please make your life as joyful as possible. We both know how valuable and temporary life really is." 

 

Leo placed his hand over Usagi's, removing it from his shoulder. 

 

"Yeah...you're right," he said pathetically. 

 

"You should spend time with your family. They probably miss you." 

 

Leo watched in stunned quiet as his friend walked over to the door. 

 

He thought about what Usagi said, and he thought about his brothers. Had they really missed him? 

 

Mikey had attempted to convince him. Even after all that’s been happening between the two of them, did Mikey really want him? 

 

Of course he did. 

 

That was just how Mikey was. 

 

Before leaving, Usagi gave Leonardo one last look, "Tell the boys I wish them a happy Halloween." 

 

XXX

 

There were only two things that could make Raphael sweat with anxiety—bugs, and planning to ask out pretty girls. 

 

April had asked him if he had maybe gotten carsick from having to ride with eight other people in her father's crowded van. Raph definitely hooked onto that scapegoat, but the only thing that was truly teeming was his rehearsed outline on how to ask Mona out on a date. 

 

Admittedly, he had never had to deal with this type of situation, and really had no experience or advice beforehand. Maybe that contributed to the swarming bats in his empty stomach. 

 

Everyone had piled into Mr. O’Neil’s Party Wagon to the Oroku mansion—Casey and April, Donnie, Mikey and his friends, and of course, Mona. 

 

And now that they had arrived, the whole impression of performing suddenly rushed in his blood, electricity crackling and zapping it to life. 

 

Raph shivered from a crooked breeze. 

 

The Oroku mansion was, for a fact, the most lavish place Raphael had ever set foot in—outstretched, crystalline windows made up a portion of the building's walls, flat roofs sheltered it, and it had a striking white exterior—recognizable, modern Japanese architecture. 

 

But all of them were lead to the back for Shinigami's party, though the backyard was just as impressive. 

 

Violet lights illuminated all whites and neons, the ground concealed in a thick, nebulous fog that was lit up with hues of orange. 

 

And the stage, that was sure a sight. Cloaked in cobwebs, it was the centerpiece of the yard, a large noose dangling from the center of it and swaying sinisterly. 

 

Approximately a hundred people were in the yard of the Oroku mansion, the music speakers beating with a heart of its own. 

 

With a pointed crescent moon above them all, everything was intimidating, and could easily be blamed for if someone were to question his clamminess. 

 

"Dude, this party is gonna be so lit!" 

 

"Don't ever say that," Raph pinched the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. 

 

Mikey was bubbling with excitement, pushing up his fake, round glasses as he lifted his feet above the fog in fascination. Him and his friends were all dressed in matching costumes from one of their favorite shows, _Super Robo Mecha Force Five!_. Against his wishes, Michelangelo was Dr. Blip, Raph having heard his complaints during the drive, as well as all his reasons why he should be Captain Dash Coolstar and not Jason. 

 

Mikey, Jason, Napoleon, and Renet all seemed charmed and overwhelmed with their setting, their eyes shining with childlike wonder. 

 

Unanticipatedly, someone nudged Raph’s shoulder, causing him to look to his right and see Casey pointing towards the stage. 

 

“Well, let’s go!” 

 

"Wait," Raph said, turning towards the rest of their group. 

 

Directing his eyes to Mikey and his friends, April must’ve picked up the subtle hint. 

 

She took a step forward, “Don’t worry, Donnie and I will watch them.” 

 

Veiled in a shimmery gown, and with her long hair in light curls, her royal appearance added to her well-known responsible personality. Raph could trust that April wouldn’t let Mikey and his friends do something completely idiotic. 

 

“Thanks, April,” he told her.

 

Now standing beside Donatello, she smiled widely, “No problem.” 

 

Jumping from all the sugar and overstimulation, Mikey went up to Raph and his band. 

 

"Yeah, you guys are going to be amazing," he beamed with innocent encouragement. 

 

Looking over, Raph took note of how Mona melted from Mikey’s gesture. Bending down, she ruffled his little brother’s hair, “Thank you.” 

 

Raph grinned to himself.

 

But now sick of indolently standing around with his guitar strapped on, he knew it was time to head back there. 

 

Before they could get a move on, however, Raph was unfortunate enough to witness Casey locking lips with April O’Neil. 

 

“That was for good luck,” she whispered after they parted, softly tucking some of his hair behind his ear. 

 

Raph rolled his eyes. 

 

"C'mon Prince Charming,” he went and grabbed the collar of Casey’s costume and yanked it along. 

 

“Nice tights, by the way,” Raph smirked as the three began to head over to their stage with their equipment. 

 

Casey gaped and blinked at him before crossing his arms. 

 

“Hey, it’s called being in a relationship and taking sacrifices! Something that you wouldn’t know. Besides, this medieval costume is surprisingly comfortable.”    

 

Upon accessing backstage, Casey Jones’s brown eyes caught fire from the galvanization. 

 

“This is totally sick!” the teen parted the tarp to scan the crowd that would soon be their audience.

 

Removing his guitar and propping it up, Raphael tried to absorb it all. He stared at the black tarp, pulling it back to see what Casey saw. 

 

“Can you believe this?” breathless words of awe came from Raph as he spoke to his band, “This all started out with Casey and I messing around in his father’s garage, and now we’re here, performing at the home of a millionaire.” 

 

Letting go, the tarp fell back into place. Raph turned around and faced his two friends that had warm smiles. 

 

“Yes, the stars must’ve aligned perfectly in your favor,” Mona said. 

 

She was walking, breathing poetry, every word that elegantly traveled off her tongue plucking his heartstrings and opening him to realizations. His once monochromic world was now bursting with colors he had never even known. Beauty was now visible to his naked eye, Mona representing everything good on earth. 

 

And on an earth that often found twisted fun in doing its worse to him, discovering such a wholesome good was a valued sentiment he cherished.

 

If only he could hold her in his arms. 

 

His heart thumped in his hallow chest once more, as his terrifying thoughts and lustrous desires take over. He licked his lips. 

 

“Hey Mona, I—“ 

 

“Oh great, you three are here.”

 

Raph flinched, whipping around to see the party host herself, Shinigami. 

 

She looked ten times more gothic than before, dressing like a witch, with hat and all. 

 

Shifting her weight, she crossed her arms and nodded towards Mona. 

 

“What are you supposed to be?” 

 

Mona shrugged shyly.  “Oh, well, I guess I’m some extraterrestrial of some sort. I was just playing around with makeup.”

 

Colorful markings traveled from the base of her forehead and onward, her eyes bright yellow from contacts. Mona was creative like that, Raph thought. 

 

“And you?” Shinigami then gestured to him, “You’re not even dressed up—where’s your holiday spirit?” 

 

“Hey, sure I am. See?” Raph opened his mouth to reveal fangs, “I’m a vampire.” 

 

Casey stood up from assembling his drum set, “And you were roasting _me_? Twilight-loving ass.” 

 

Shini rolled her eyes playfully. “Anyway, I’d like to thank you again for agreeing to perform.” 

 

“No problem, Goth Girl,” Casey told her, “I can guarantee that you won’t be disappointed.” He gave her a reassuring wink as a weak attempt to seal the deal. 

 

She pursed her purple lips, unamused. 

 

“Right. Well, you better hope you’re right. You can start now if you want,” she said as she walked away. 

 

Raph’s heart descended six feet underground.

 

“Wait-wait—now? Already?” he called out. 

 

Casey pumped his fist, “Sweet!” 

 

His friend didn’t waste time, poking his head out another time before going back to assembling his drums with great speed. 

 

Somehow, his fingers found their way to the tarp, separating it once more to reveal what lied beyond.

 

Stage lights were now blinding. Crowd now packed. Everything now overwhelming.

 

Heart drumming in his ears louder than Casey ever could, his fingers curled around the cloth.

 

Raph didn’t need to look away to know that Mona had bent down beside him, looking out of the same portal. Her cool presence contrasted against the hear that was rising in his body.

 

His tongue glossed over his piercing. “Are you nervous?”

 

Raph’s voice came out rigid and unsteady. He uncurled his fingers, the tarp falling back into place like it had before.

 

As soon as his mental state would allow it, he looked over to the girl on his left.

 

Just by translating her stance, he already knew the answer. Mona leaned against the stage, lips no good at keeping a straight line. She was relaxed, at ease. Confident.

 

“I used to sing in a church choir when I was younger,” she spoke to him, “Performing in front of others is a fear I’ve already conquered.”

 

Raph tore his eyes away as if it would actually lessen the embarrassment.

 

“I guess that explains why you sing like an angel.”

 

The comment came so sudden, it took a second for him to register that he had said it out loud. Squeezing his eyes shut, he really wished he would stop talking.

 

“You know Raphael, the adrenaline you’re feeling at the moment is beneficial,” he heard her say.

 

“Really? Because to me, it’s just making me nauseas.”

Make that three things that made him sweat with nerves—bugs, talking to pretty girls, and performing with his band for the first time. On top of that, he was talking to a pretty girl about performing; if a cockroach were to crawl out of somewhere, there was no doubt he’d hurl.

 

Why was he afraid of this? Why was he so afraid of something he had been dreaming of for years? It was so close now, in the palm of his sweaty hand, yet he was refraining. All his hard work was leading up to this, his ambitions just behind the tarp. Yet, here he was, now yearning to run the other way.

 

Familiar anger came coursing back, his fists tightening.

 

Stupid. This was all stupid. He was being so stupid.

 

“Raphael.”

 

Soft hands gently cupped his face, guiding him back to stare at her.

 

“Fear is an inborn human emotion. It keeps us safe, but it can also push us to overcome situations, and become stronger than we previously were. It builds character. Now this is your moment—don’t run from it,” Mona delicately pushed the hair out of his face. “Embrace it.”

 

 _Embrace it_.

 

His fists became undone, despite his body temperature increasing from under her touch.

 

Feverishly, Raphael nodded, going and snatching his guitar by the neck.

 

Even though it was Halloween, he wasn’t going to let fear possess him. Not today.

 

Mona returned his gesture and nodded, shooting a phantom of a smile as she lifted the tarp. Light shown all around her.

 

“C’mon,” she said. “Let’s have one of the most memorable nights of our lives.”

 

Extending out her hand, he didn’t refrain to grab ahold of it as he stepped onto the other side.

 

It was extremely bright, causing shadows to be casted over the hundreds of partygoers so that they were cloaked in darkness. For some reason, not being able to their faces made him more disturbed.

 

“What’s up party people?!”

 

Raph shielded his eyes from the spotlights, cringing at how loud Casey was, and how much louder the cheering was in comparison.

 

He swallowed, fighting back the burning that was threatening him in the back of his throat.

 

Standing centerstage, there was no hint of apprehension in his best friend as he held the microphone close to his mouth.

 

“The name’s Casey Jones—that’s Raph and Mona—” he did so much as to point over to them without looking back, “And we’re Anarchist.”

 

Raph rushed forward, taking the mic from Casey and causing feedback to screech, “No, no we’re not. Our name is still undecided.”

 

Casey scrunched his face, covering the microphone with his hand. “What kind of name is Still Undecided?” he whispered before facing the guests again, “Anyway, we’re gonna play for you our original song, _Outer Space_.”

 

Throat clamping and stomach wrenching, Raph froze as Casey handed the microphone to Mona. Casey went to his drums, though Raph remained still. 

 

There was a stranger of a sensation in his mind and body. It was as if there was zero gravity, head filled with helium, and yet there was pressure on his chest, like demonic hands compressing his lungs. Floating, but also helpless stuck.

 

It took Mona to ground him back, to keep him tied down to the reality to the situation. She smiled, and Raph read her lips, “Ready?”. 

 

This was happening, and it was happening now. 

 

Licking his own lips, he backpedaled to where his amplifier was set up, managing to plus his guitar before seeing more stars. He stood forward. 

 

Sticks collided. 

 

“One, two, three, four!” 

 

Drums. 

 

Muscle memory proved to be intact, his fingers strumming on their own. 

 

They were doing it. _He_ was doing it. 

 

“ _I have lived a thousand years_

 _In the carnage of the past_.” 

 

She was perfect. Her voice didn’t crack or waver, the lyrics wrapped in grace. 

 

He strummed harder as the panic started to fade. 

 

“ _Time is nothing in your fears_

 _Because these scars they last_.” 

 

By now, his sight adjusted and began to identify faces. As soon as that realization was noted, he immediately took advantage, scouring the people in hopes of finding the ones he cared for. 

 

It really wasn’t challenging finding Mikey in a crowd. He was much too special to blend in. 

 

His little brother waved his arms frantically, cheering at high volumes as he jumped with excitement. What a spazz. 

 

Raph didn’t bother fighting a smile. 

 

Mikey was beside his friends and Donnie, and even Donnie would cup his hands and clap. 

 

There were all there. April, Donnie, Mikey. 

 

Well, not all. 

 

_“Once separated by an ocean now it is here in the wind and in the night and in the window shafts.”_

 

Just as when anxiety was threatening to surge again, he saw _him_. 

 

Eyes never leaving, he couldn’t believe when he saw Mikey turn and run away. For a split second, he grew concerned. 

 

Leo came. 

 

Mikey had ran to him, tackling him into a big hug before dragging him over with the others.  

 

They were all here. 

 

_“Teach me to breathe, because I forgot how. Teach me to live in the here and now._

_But perhaps I am afraid of finding outer space. So I'll wait.”_

 

Adrenaline was now at its peak, and even when the last syllable left Mona’s tongue, Raphael felt as if he could play a hundred more. 

 

As soon as the last note was struck, there was an explosion of noise, Raph’s family probably the loudest source. 

 

“Thank you, New York!” Casey shouted, throwing his hands up. 

 

Mona turned around and gave Raph a thumbs up, in which he gladly offered one back. 

 

It was then that her words from earlier echoed. 

 

_This is your moment._

 

The two took steps towards each other—

 

“We did it guys!” without foresight, Casey hooked both Mona and Raph, moving them to backstage. 

 

“You were great!” Raph said to both, buT was looking at Mona. 

 

“Thank you, you did great yourself.” 

 

“Now its time to party!” Casey ran in the blink of an eye. 

 

Mona laughed, following after him. 

 

“C’mon, let’s continue to make this night memorable.” 

 

XXX

 

Thunderous applause eventually subsided, though crackles of enthusiasm still sparkled from April O’Neil’s stormy eyes. Awestruck and pride and just bare happiness was such a scenic attribute to her presence at this moment in time. 

 

Pearly white teeth shone from her sinless smile as the teenage girl continued to cheer even after the live music was put to rest. Long hair whipped around her when she turned to look at Donatello, her energy still glistening like fireflies. 

 

“Weren’t they great?” she tugged at his sleeve. 

 

Oh how he wished he could simply mirror the same excitement, exude the same energy. The sad sentient that this searing, raw love was not emitted for him—such a selfish thing, he knew—prevented any genuine compliment to be constructed. 

 

How long had her and Casey Jones been together? Five, six months? Holding onto this rope he had tied to April did nothing but burn him, and yet still hadn’t found the willingness to let go. 

 

“Yeah,” was the measly response he offered, as well as a small smile to make the short comment seem more full. 

 

Pressing up onto her toes, she peered out into the crowd, no doubt searching for Casey. But Donnie caught notice of a negligible detail—she had yet to release her grip on his arm.

 

He couldn’t help but surrender to the irrefutable fact that he admired her. Her rose-colored, shimmery dress, how her hair fell into loose curls—admirations he couldn’t keep closed and buried in a coffin. 

 

“You know,” he said, making her temporarily stop her search to look at him, “You look really beautiful.” 

 

The way she crinkled her freckled nose, the subtle demure that took over her demeanor, Donnie could tell she was somehow caught off guard.  

 

“Thank you.” 

 

Against the pulsating music, her voice ran as soft as silk, her excitement simmering to a true sense of appreciation. 

 

She let go of his sleeve. 

 

A lonely, wisp of wind made the hairs on the back of his neck stiff. 

 

The blue Donnie was once staring into were suddenly masked, strange hands slithering like tentacles over April’s face. 

 

“Guess who?” said the voice that made Donnie internally seethe, but one that made April smirk. 

 

“My super cool rockstar, that’s who.”

 

Gently grabbing Casey’s arms, she pulled them so that she could lift herself up and have their lips could touch. 

 

Donnie’s insides crumbled. He swallowed, attempting to shove down the lump that had knotted in his throat. “Yeah, great show.” 

 

When those enemy eyes reopened, Casey looked over at him. 

 

“Thanks D,” he said, and for once, with no obvious malice. 

 

Malice wasn’t heard, but Donnie could still taste a hint of bitterness—something like dark chocolate. Sweet, but layered with a resentful aftertaste.

 

Eyeing him up and down, Donatello then folded his arms as his lips curled. “It was almost as great as your costume.” 

 

Bristling, April’s boyfriend then stood tall and proud. “Uh, we’re Romeo and Juliet,” he explained, putting an arm over her shoulder as if to protect her. Or claim her. Lava coursed through his veins. 

 

Donnie raised an eyebrow. “You do know they killed themselves right?” 

 

Casey squinted as if to hide his confusion and bury it under intimidation. 

 

April cleared her throat, alerting Donnie that he had made some type of mistake. It was insecurity. Insecurity is what fueled him to make that slight snide remark. Perhaps Casey had genuinely meant his words, and that the bitter he licked up was all in his head. Luckily, April changed the subject he unwittingly poisoned. 

 

“It’s too bad Irma’s Dad wouldn’t let her go,” she said to the both of them, “We could’ve all had fun together.” 

 

“Well—“ 

 

“Don’t worry Red, I’ll still show you a good time,” Casey reeled her in close, caressing her cheek flirtatiously. 

 

“Will you now?” she simpered.

 

Urgent to save the conversation before it’s premature death, Donatello decided to open up. 

 

“I’ve seen Irma around at TCRI—I accepted the offer there, actually. I’m glad you pushed me to go for it. There’s multiple scientific studies orchestrated there, and Dr. Rockwell is a great mentor—“ 

 

Laughter. Innocent, joyous laughter. He lifted his head up from his rambling thoughts to see her laughing with delight in the arms of another man. 

 

Six months, he reminded himself. Rope burns. 

 

Fanning away the source of her laughter, she returned her eyes to him. 

 

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Her face had yet to wear off the previous fun.

 

Donnie rubbed the back of his neck.

 

“About TCRI. I, uh, accepted the internship.” 

 

“Good for you, Donnie,” she said to him. Not in a sarcastic way, but not in an excited way. Not like how talking to Casey made her sound. 

 

It didn’t take long for Casey to come hook back his girl. 

 

“C’mere Red,” he tugged her arm, the two becoming like magnets as she gravitated towards his chest for a dance. 

 

“Jones!” She laughed once more. 

 

Sharp and tantalizing, it was as if a knife had sliced between them, and Donnie could sense his connection being scabrously severed. Strings were cut as he now became untethered, floating like a phantom in an environment where he couldn’t stay grounded. 

 

Why did he even agree to come to this party? Definitely not to be the third wheel. 

 

Donatello looked around, and soon remembered why. Mikey and his friends all stood near a snack table towards the back. Smiling. And man, did it feel good to see Mikey smiling like that. 

 

That was the reason for his presence. He was here for that. 

 

If only he could benefit from his decision himself. He leaned back against the empty table behind him. 

 

But it didn’t take long for his impatience to be stretched so thin, and for his introverted tendencies to consume. Maybe now since Leo decided to show up, his absence wouldn’t matter. Donnie wallowed in these thoughts, but wasn’t decisive enough to miss hearing his favorite voice once more. 

 

“Hey!” 

 

Lifting his head up, he gazed at April, “Hey.” 

 

He was getting worked up for nothing, Donnie reasoned with himself. Of course she still wanted to spend time with him. They were best friends. 

 

April wasn’t reluctant to pull out a chair and sit at the table, Donnie following her lead. 

 

“Casey went to find the bathroom, so nows a good time as any,” she explained, folding her arms on the flat surface before looking across at him with excitement, “So? Have you figured anything else out? Found anymore possible explanations?” 

 

He couldn’t help but let his face fall. 

 

“What?” 

 

“You know. About my vision? My psychic abilities?” April gestured. 

 

_Is she still going on about that?_

 

Donnie coughed lightly. 

 

“Oh, no, I’ve kind of had my plate a bit full lately.” 

 

The truth was perhaps even more bitter than that. Between school and the internship, April’s dubious theories were no where near his priorities at this point, or even a remote interest. Logically, there was no way to prove that April O’Neil was a psychic. It was preposterous. 

 

But April leaned in, face turning to stone and voice becoming callous. “You said you’d help me get to the bottom of it. You’re still willing to help me, right?” 

 

Blinking at her, he sat there, stunned. Something about her sudden, humorless drift caught Donatello off guard. How her softness had quickly turned stoic in a matter of seconds—was this really that big of a deal to her? 

 

Donnie shook his head out of his thoughts. 

 

“Yeah, April. I am.” 

 

A flash of a somber smile. Eyes fell to her folded hands after tucking a loose curl behind her ear. 

 

Donnie knew April. He could tell that there was something on the tip of her tongue, and that she was dying to say more. Glancing to her left, she then straightened, standing up. 

 

“Casey’s back,” she said, pushing her chair in, “But we’ll talk about this later. Tomorrow?” 

 

And April wandered off. 

 

Now sitting at the lonesome table, Donnie couldn’t help but begin to think. Overanalyze, maybe. But perhaps, where he stood in his relationship with April wasn’t as certain as he once believed. 

 

Dancing with Casey under moonlight, him being completely disregarded unless it was about her extrasensory perception conspiracy. 

 

He always had told himself that he didn’t mind who he was in her eyes, and that any sort of relation he had with her would be enough to satisfy, but he couldn’t deny the burning, wrenching pain that constantly throbbed from watching her from afar. Donnie couldn’t lie to himself anymore—of course her cared about how she felt about him. Of course he wanted to nurture their friendship in the hopes that it would blossom into something more. Of course he valued how his best friend thought of him. 

 

But perhaps, she didn’t. 

 

Perhaps, he was nothing more than a submissive, genius that she knew was wrapped around her finger. Perhaps, his solid identity as her best friend wasn’t intact anymore.

 

Perhaps, he wasn’t a friend to her at all. 

 

 

XXX

 

“I’m just saying, my personality is an exact match to Captain Dash Coolstar, and I am _nothing_ like Dr. Blip whatsoever!”

 

“For the last time dude, you’re shorter than me! It wouldn’t look right if any of us were Dr. Blip,” Jason exasperated, sick of having to answer to Mikey’s complaint, but also seeming ready to counteract him again if he had to. 

 

Crowing, costumes, chugging—the whole scene was more stimulating than he imagined. Not too intense, since there was a slight innocence to soften the edge, but enough to still make his heart palpitate invigoratingly. Denial would be for him to say that all this wasn’t extremely intriguing. He had always been a party guy, after all. When he got older, he’d definitely dabble with the lifestyle. 

 

Having Jason, Napoleon, and Renet with him, however, was what really excited Mikey. It was a reunion that was well needed. Family and friends, and no Purple Dragons. 

 

Mikey crossed his arms over dramatically, looking over to Renet for any condolence. 

 

Her face contorted as if to hold back laughter. “Sorry, Jason’s right. You fit best. But don’t worry, you look perfectly fine as Dr. Blip—those glasses make you look cute.” 

 

Mikey huffed, pushing up his fake glasses with a single finger. “I bet they do.” 

 

All of their costumes were matching, but with Renet’s colored in pink, and a tiara crowning her head. Lucky her. She got a tiara, meanwhile he was stuck wearing round, fake glasses. Mikey had always loved tiaras.  

 

“I’ll give you one thing, Dr. Blip would never be able to hook anyone up like this—this party is crazy sick.” Jason gawked with owlish eyes, twisting his head around to gaze at the decorations. 

 

Napoleon then spoke up, scratching his head. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere this fancy my entire life.” 

 

“I told you guys we’d have the best, most rad Halloween night ever!” Mikey said smugly, happy to impress his friends. 

 

“Just don’t have too much fun, now.” 

 

Mikey looked over his shoulder to see Leonardo. 

 

It was comforting to see his oldest brother unwinding a bit, to see him almost relaxed. 

 

Somehow Usagi had convinced him to come—either that or he was under a spell. Mikey wouldn’t be surprised if Usagi had some sort of magic. 

 

“Leo, I’m glad you’re here, but don’t be a party pooper dude.” 

 

Leo only rolled his eyes, but in a brotherly way. 

 

“Well, if you guys need me, I’ll be at the snack bar,” Napoleon announced, heading over to the table with popcorn and gummy eyeballs. 

 

Mikey turned back to Renet. 

 

It had been a while since he hung out with Jason, Napoleon, and Renet, but he felt the most troubled when separated from her. Something was happening between them. There was something underneath the surface, something festering. But he didn’t know what. 

 

His best friend wasn’t looking at him, at least not right away. Renet was observing everything around her at first, anything but him. Hand around her arm, she seemed closed off. Shy. But he didn’t know why. 

 

Her eyes eventually met his. A twitch in the lips. 

 

Mikey slipped his hands into Renet’s, swinging them as if to shake away her apparent nerves. 

 

“So, Renet? Is this not the coolest party you’ve ever seen?” he asked with a playful, haughty flair. 

 

Eyes moved away as if to stay grounded in her feelings, but Renet melted, unable to stop a smile from growing. 

 

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it does seem pretty cool.” 

 

“See, you just need to trust me more like you used to.” 

 

Perhaps a wrong or insensitive choice of words. 

 

She let go of his hands. 

 

Her eyebrows slanted, the gravity in his words truly making her face fall. 

 

“I trust you.” 

 

Her voice came out sounding pinched, as if she were offended. 

 

Dumbfounded, Mikey couldn’t find his own voice. 

 

The remark caused an awkward quiet between the two. Pinks and purples casted on their misunderstood faces, neon colors unable to shed any light. 

 

But Mikey was determined to not let this sudden, mysterious distance ruin their Halloween. 

 

“It’s too bad Timothy couldn’t come, we could’ve all become friends,” Mikey began to chip at the ice that was starting to give him frostbite. 

 

Renet stared off. “Well then what would he have dressed up as?” 

 

“Squeakums, obviously.”

 

She snickered, making Mikey successful at breaking the icy tension, and making him warm with reassurance. She was happy. She was happy despite the vibes he was feeling from her lately. 

 

DJ now changing songs, a new one began to blast from the speakers, bass beating and making the boy tap his foot. “This song is so _lit_ —don’t tell Raph I said that.” 

 

Mikey looked at Renet until his attention was snagged by someone else in the near distance. 

 

“Do you wanna—”

 

“Dudes, look—it’s Shinigami! And she isn’t dancing with anyone yet,” Mikey beamed. 

 

Shinigami didn’t look too different than how she normally looked, dressed in a body suit, but still in shades of black. The only striking details was her pointed witch hat and her fringed cape, and he found it fun that she loves to overindulge into Halloween. 

 

But most importantly, to Mikey, Shini was currently available, dark lipstick staining her cup.  

 

Jason and Napoleon had then come back with bags of popcorn and boyish smiles. 

 

“Dude go in there!” Jason encouraged, patting him on the back rather too hard.

 

“This is probably like, the only opportunity you’ll ever have to dance with her,” Napoleon brought up.

 

 Mikey withdrew a deep breath. 

 

“Alright, I’m going in,” he turned to his three friends, “Wish me luck!” 

 

Mikey gave a thumbs up before heading over to the senior girl.

 

“That’s my boy!” he heard Jason from a distance as he continued to approach Shinigami. 

 

Grass soft under his shoes and ears burning, he fidgeted with the pompom that dangled from his beanie. Normally, Mikey was never socially nervous. But it was safe to say that everyone found Shinigami quite intimidating. 

 

Estimating where his voice would be in earshot of her, he cleared his throat and his jitters. 

 

“Uh, h-hey! My name’s Hamato Michelangelo, we go to the same school,” he mustered out, unable to outwardly express how stupid he thought he sounded. 

 

_Maybe she didn’t hear me. Maybe I can just turn back ar—_

 

“Oh.”

 

Mikey nearly gasped, keeping himself together enough to look her in the eyes. Which didn’t help much. She had beautiful eyes. 

 

Shinigami shifted her weight, an amused look on her face. 

 

“Are you that genius kid?” 

 

Mikey blinked.

 

“Uh, no, that’s my brother, Donnie. I’m the cute one.”

 

She raised a curious eyebrow. “Oh, well you kind of look like a fifth grader, so I assumed you skipped around.”

 

Old insecurities were resurrected. Straightening to appear taller, he ignored them.

 

“No, no, I’m a high schooler,” he assured.

 

“So, Michelangelo,” she set her cup down, “What are you supposed to be anyway?”

 

Somehow, he had captured her undivided attention. His ears began to burn even more.

 

“Oh, right, well you see, my friends and I are all matching, we’re these cool characters from this cool show called _Super Robo Mecha Force Five!_ , or SRMFF for short. My friends made me be the lamest character though, I promise I’m not actually this nerdy. The glasses are even fake, see?” Mikey pulled the glasses off, catching his breath after losing it from his rambling.

 

But she still laughed sweetly. “I do.”

 

How did she not get annoyed by him? How has she been able to put up with him for this long? He never expected to get this far.

 

He gulped, ready to ask the question of the night, despite what the probable answer would be.

 

“Um, anyway, I was thinking—maybe—would you like to dance? With me, I mean.”

 

Bracing himself, the words to follow were even more unexpected.

 

“Eh, why the hell not?”

 

Michelangelo didn’t care that his eyes probably looked about ready to fall out of his head. Shinigami— _the_ Shinigami—just agreed to dance with _him_.

 

“Wait, really?” he asked in case he heard wrong, but the teenage girl had already begun to initiate the activity.

 

And Mikey couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear, knowing that some luck, some _good_ , was finally bestowed upon him.

 

XXX

 

The art of dance is always thought to be an aphrodisiac or elegant ritual—one where body language spoke louder than human speech. One that was uniform to all corners of the earth. Reciprocated movements, swaying reactions. 

 

However, elegance was not the appropriate description for Michelangelo's dancing. 

 

Leonardo leaned against a column, smirk twisted on his face as he watched Mikey dancing with Shinigami from afar. 

 

His little brother obviously didn't know what he was doing, or even how to dance with a girl. But with the light in his eyes and the genuine smile, Leo could see the purity in his dancing,  and he still made it look like an art form. 

 

That was a favorable quality in Mikey—he didn't care if he looked like a fool. As long as he was having fun, he didn't care. Something admirable about the young boy. 

 

Leo had never been to such a vivacious and populous party—or to any kind of party, to be honest. Diligence drove him away from all these types of distractions as a teenager. Usagi was right about never indulging, but now standing under these strung lights, he wondered just how long ago it really was since he’d ever luxuriated. 

 

He exhaled through his nostrils. 

 

"My, my...Hamato Leonardo? Is that really you?" 

 

A feminine voice—one familiar, yet foreign all the same. 

 

His neck twisted towards the source of the sound, only for confusion to creep in. 

 

Sleek brunette hair coursed down to her waist, golden eyes shimmering behind glasses. From her clean-cut bangs to the heather gray pantsuit, the professionalism she expressed was quite clear. 

 

That feature, that realization, was what helped all the pieces come together on what her identity was. 

 

"Karai?" 

 

Karai Oroku—his tongue hadn't felt that name in many years. Not since he was a child, but a name that wearily journeyed across his mind constantly. 

 

Leo smiled. 

 

For a split moment, he didn't know which response would be appropriate, but suddenly she outstretched her arm, leaving an open hand to shake. 

 

_Right._

 

Leonardo took Karai's hand and shook it. 

 

"How have you been? How long have you been back here in New York?" he asked with real curiosity. 

 

She took her hand back, it returning to the glass she held. 

 

"I came back from Japan a little over six months ago," she answered, also taking a look at Shinigami and Michelangelo's time together. 

 

Leo removed his back from the column. "You know, I didn't know for sure where you went when I was a kid. Plenty of people said you were sent to Japan, but I couldn't ever be sure. There was a lot of rumors." 

 

"That's what happens when you're the daughter of a millionaire, huh?" Bringing the glass to her lips and taking a short sip, lipstick stained the rim. She didn't pull her eyes away. 

 

"After my mother died, my father decided it was best to do my studies at a boarding school in Japan."

 

Knots raveled and pulled in his stomach. He stared at Oroku. She stood tall, her eyes not wavering and her chest rising and falling at a steady pace. Like she was unfazed by the bitter truth of her past. Or that she was trying so hard for it to seem that way.

 

"I'm sorry." 

 

Leo looked at the party lights above him. 

 

"My father also died while you were gone." 

 

Bass from the speakers thrummed through his body, the music reverberating in the emptiness between the two hardened souls. Electricity prevented flatlined silence. 

 

"I met Shinigami while in Japan," Karai spoke up, making Leo look back at the dancing, "She's like a little sister to me. I would never host such an animalistic party if it wasn't for her." 

 

"So is that an obvious no to dressing up as well?" Leo asked playfully. 

 

Karai finally gave Leo some of her eye contact, a smirk on her face. "Dressing up isn't really my thing," she told him before taking another drink. 

 

Leo turned himself towards her, making his body language more open and inviting. "You've really changed since I last saw you. The Karai I remember would never disregard Halloween."

 

She smiled, spreading warmth in Leo's body. 

 

"I can't say the same to you. The only difference I notice is that your voice is deeper and that you're finally taller than me." 

 

A laugh naturally found its way for Leo, something he hadn't done in a while. Moving just the slightest bit closer, he leaned against the column with his arms crossed. 

 

"You know, I had like, the biggest crush on you in first grade," a smirk of his own appeared. 

 

Karai turned to face him, her long hair swaying as she did. 

 

"Did you now?" she teased, making Leo struggle to hide a smile. 

 

Finishing off her cup, Karai lifted the empty glass. "Do you want something to drink? Red wine, perhaps?" 

 

"I'm going to have to pass this time. I'm going to be taking the kids home." 

 

"Respectable." 

 

There were so many things Leo wished he could say to her, so many years he wanted to get back. Karai had always been such an interesting part in his life, something _good_ , and now that she was back he couldn't help but feel greedy for her. 

 

But there was nothing he could bring himself up to say. At this point, she was a complete mystery, and he had no way of knowing how to test her waters. 

 

Out of the crowds of people, Leo suddenly caught eye of Raphael heading his way. 

 

Straightening, he opened his arms and enveloped Raph as soon as he was in range. 

 

"You did a great job tonight," Leo told his younger brother as they hugged, "I'm very proud of you."

 

Raph quickly let go—he wasn't a hugger. But he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Thanks," was all he managed to say, but Leo knew the value in that small word. 

 

Leo glanced at Karai, who was smiling fondly at his bonding moment. Clearing his throat, he said, "Raphael, this is Karai. Karai, this is one of my brothers, Raphael."  

 

As soon as Raph heard the name, Leo instantly saw a change in his brother's demeanor, his eyebrow raising and a taunting look in his eye. Leo grit his teeth to keep from blushing. 

 

But Raphael shook the young woman's hand anyway, with the most politeness Raph would probably ever use. 

 

"Hey," Raph said, "Have you guys seen Mona anywhere? I kinda need to talk to her." 

 

"No," Leo answered and Karai shook her head. 

 

Without ever hearing a real explanation, Raph left as quickly as he came in search of Mona. 

 

As Leo saw Raph get swallowed by the crowd, he wondered if the time was going by just as fast. 

 

Rolling up his sleeve, he checked his wrist watch—9:26—which exceeded the curfew. But like Usagi said, he wasn't in uniform, so there was new use in enforcing the rules. 

 

But still, Mikey's friends parents' might be getting worried, especially Renet’s. 

 

"Hey, I should be dropping the kids home, but it was nice—"

 

Leonardo looked up, only to find that Karai Oroku had already left. 

 

XXX

 

She was standing alone when he found her. Not in icy isolation, and not in somber silence. More as if she was admiring her surroundings. Like she was absorbing every detail, letting her environment become a permanent memory. Seeing her standing by herself, she didn't seem lonely, but rather that she was alright being with only herself. 

 

As she should be, Raph thought to himself. 

 

He felt those fluttering bats in his stomach like he had earlier, rambunctious at just the glimpse of Mona—an innocent giddiness that he could never recall that he experienced prior. 

 

Fingers dug into his palms as he curled tight fists of nervousness. 

 

He wasn't going to walk away from this—he would never let it go. 

 

So he put one foot in front of the other. And so on and so forth.

 

But then her eyes saw his. Party lights reflected in her irises, flickered like flames that made him paralyzed. 

 

And if that weren't enough, she smiled. She smiled at him, those shining eyes crinkling from how wide it was. It loosened him up just to travel a few more steps, but fortunately Mona met him halfway. God knew he wouldn't be able to carry himself for all that distance. 

 

White noise hummed in the background, time beginning to stretch to the ends of the earth as he admired the woman that now occupied his own world. 

 

"Hey, Mona," the words automatically flowed as if he wasn't the one to say them. 

 

"Hey." 

 

He rubbed the back of his neck, though he was unable to break away from her mesmerizing face. 

 

"You did great—I know I already told you that, but I wanted to say it a bit more...personally." 

 

"Personally?" Mona quirked an eyebrow, making his heart pick up the pace. 

 

"Y-yeah!" Raph cleared his throat, trying his best to not let his blush distract him, "You're really great! You're—you're wonderful! Like, not just your singing, your everything." 

 

No words. Only a smirk. 

 

He swallowed. "I-I know we haven't known each other for long—God I'm making this worse—but you're just—and I just—" 

 

A soft finger suddenly pressed against his lips.

 

The two inched closer, soft lips making contact for the first time. Two souls sparking for the first time. 

 

As soon as Mona kissed him, he felt his heart race slow. It was something so natural that it was comforting—like it was meant to be this way. Like it was home. 

 

Once she leaned away, she wore a youthful smile. 

 

"Yes, I would love to go out with you, Raphael." 

 

XXX

 

All Mikey could think was of how perfect this Halloween was going, and how easy it was to dance with someone as wonderful as Shinigami. It almost seemed surreal—a dream sweeter than any candy. 

 

But the song was lulling to an end, it inching to its resolution. He didn't want this to end. He didn't want to have to leave this paradise escapism and wander back to such a tricky reality. Mikey wished he could dance under moonlight for an eternity. 

 

With a twist, Mikey caught a quick, sudden glimpse. He saw his brother Donatello, and his best friend Renet standing next to each other. And the sad vibes they exerted were strong and obvious. 

 

Guilt creeped, making Mikey bite the inside of his cheek. He swiftly looked away, not wanting to have to bear that pain just yet. Just not yet. 

 

Instead, he found his sights returning to Shinigami. Her light eyes were very bewitching, making Mikey's face glow pink. 

 

Bass blaring, the song wrapped itself up. 

 

Mikey caught his breath, a broad smile on his face as the two were finishing their dance. 

 

But before the boy could thank the girl, Shinigami grabbed a hold of Mikey's wrist and jerked him forward. 

 

Wide-eyed, he gulped as she leaned in, getting so close he could feel the heat of her breath. 

 

Lips almost tracing his ear, Mikey tensed. 

 

She whispered into his ear. 

 

It was something in Japanese. 

 

He opened his mouth to respond, but without even the chance to, she twirled him, spinning him away. Mikey turned sharply in hopes of an explanation, but Shinigami had been swallowed by the crowd. 

 

He stared out, completely chilled as he recalled what she said to him. 

 

_Be careful. Watch your back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EXMMV EXIILTBBK!

**Author's Note:**

> MLLO MFDBLK MBQB TXP KLQ QLL TFPB,  
> PQOXVBA COLJ ELJB & CXZBA EFP ABJFPB,  
> LK QEB BSB LC X PEXABA PRKOFPB.


End file.
